


Unorthodox

by 0hHarvey



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gloria and Hop are 18, Minimum Age To Compete Is 18, Nondescript Sex Scene, Romantic interactions, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends, Tagged Underage as precaution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22578274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHarvey/pseuds/0hHarvey
Summary: Kabu smirks, pressing his lips together at her audacity. She's challenging him to decline and it's written all over her smug little face. He thinks they've come far in only one match and a few conversations. Or perhaps it's simply his incredulous scrutiny of her appearance and character that makes him feel close; as if his fondness for her boils over every time they speak.Kabu / Yuuri | Gloria (Reader, OC, and Self Insert possible).
Relationships: Kabu (Pokemon)/Original Female Character(s), Kabu (Pokemon)/Reader, Kabu (pokemon)/Yuuri | Gloria, Kabu/Yuuri | Gloria
Comments: 101
Kudos: 207





	1. Potential

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Pokemon character names belong to The Pokémon Company, a Japanese consortium between Nintendo, Game Freak, and Creatures. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, 0hHarvey. Thank you. Please enjoy.
> 
> Kabu / Yuuri | Gloria (Reader, OC, & Self Insert possible). 
> 
> A/N: You must be 18 in order to compete in the Gym Challenge. Gloria and Hop are 18 for the sake of the story. I do not approve of under-aged romance. This is a commissioned fic which was accepted as long as all romantically-involved characters would be blatantly stated to be 18+.

He almost regrets the first time they meet. She’s another number on his schedule. Another young lady with dreams of uprooting the system and decimating the ranks. He sees it every year, followed by devastation and disappointment in nearly 92% of his challengers. He expects nothing out of the ordinary with her. Nothing that would test him. But every match is his own opportunity to improve, whether he loses or not. And every challenger holds potential for him to train, regardless of age or talent. 

They announce her name, the minimum age to compete, 18, where she’s from, and her surprisingly evolved team in fighting order. She walks on the field by his side, having a firm presence and this  _ look _ . One that demanded recognition and approval. A look that told him she had seen her own potential and capability. Her stance is casual and her eyes are deceptively demure when she meets him at center field, contrary to the look she held in the entrance. She is clearly a soft person, yet her presence is undeniably ambitious. He appreciates her readiness. She only smiles at their brief exchange of words. 

Kabu finds that she is affectionate and faithful; the brief movement of her lips against each upcoming pokeball tells him this. Her own little notes of confidence to each of her pokemon, a kiss on each surface before she throws them into his literal fire. 

She puts up one hell of a fight. He finds himself staggering once or twice. 

Her strategy tells him nothing. It is random and oddly vague, her correlation between type and timing escapes him during the actual heat of the battle. But her team tells him more than enough. She has an intriguing mix, all clearly wild caught and wooed with affection and rewards. None are of the same type. None are untrained or unresponsive. Nothing outlandish. Each of them is healthy and informative in their visible readiness and willingness to communicate. Her toxtricity is especially fond of her, acting with relentless aggression and unquestionable dedication. With its last bit of energy, it maintains for her sake, barely finalizing their battle with her success. It is exhausted, but it accepts a soft hand on its snout before returning, content in her excitement. 

It’s the very soft, sentimental look she gives her pokemon that attests to her vulnerability. It tells him that she’s benign and genial, admittedly compassionate towards her team. Her eyes are painfully expressive, alternating between stress and joy throughout their battle. He wonders briefly if she’s a terrible liar. 

She tiredly smiles when he approaches her, drenched in sweat and adrenaline. It’s a grin that conceals the mental and emotional stress of her possible loss, fueled by the victory. Kabu concludes that he is her first real challenge. He had read the intense concern in her expression when her own arcanine was returned. He saw her confidence waiver briefly when her roserade failed. But he appreciated her unorthodox strategy. He couldn’t help but smile when her grin of relief finally reached her eyes. And when he shook her hand, he noted the severe redness of her face, wondering if the heat of his centiskorch had overwhelmed her from such a distance as it often did with close-combat trainers. When he offered a sincere apology, she only flustered into a deeper shade, waving off the idea and apologizing for her own inability. 

He admitted to himself that he hardly understood her need to apologize. Then again, recognizing her uniform number, she was already rumored to be somewhat unconventional as she shredded through the minor leagues. 

Nessa had complained about her methods; she said it was borderline absurd. Milo wouldn’t complain if he had the plague. Leon endorsed her, if he remembers correctly. 

Kabu congratulates her, as she deserved it. And he wonders how far she'll go, eyes lingering a bit on the bounce of her hair as she bends forward as thanks and leaves the stadium. 

It takes him a moment to realize she'd bowed. As though he were back in Hoenn. It was odd for him to think that his own culture is what shocks him, and not Galar. It tells him how long he’s been away from home. It urges him to catch up to her. 

So he rushes to see her off from Motostoke, saying he makes it a point to say goodbye to successful trainers. But she squints a bit at his words, and he can barely tell from her expression that he's caught in his lie. His colleagues coincidentally join him by surprise, Nessa tailing off his deception like the genuine friend she is. Gloria seems perplexed, but grins regardless, standing with Leon's brother confidently at her side. The boy sets a hand on her waist, pulling her close to laugh and boast that they'll soon be in Wyndon to dethrone the Champion. Kabu can only smile, confident that they have the potential to. They head to Hammerlock, her hair tangling in the breeze on her back as she runs after her rival.

* * *

End Chapter One.


	2. Tea and Coffee

She asks for his advice one day. He'd offered it weeks prior, having grown increasingly interested as she decimated Piers, yet struggled briefly in the battle with Melony. Gloria had still won. And Raihan was sweating in his castle. 

He's somewhat surprised at her abrupt visit. It’d been around three months into the season since she’d challenged him. She coincidentally catches Kabu in the coffee shoppe, admitting her business in Motostoke was specifically to seek him out. Her hands are halfway full with bags from the local markets and shopping district. Her smile is broad and eager. He notes that she's grown significantly in character, seeing her straighter stance and somehow even more ambitious demeanor. She's dressed fashionably, dignified and tasteful. Her shoes are worn, regardless. He wonders how long and how consistently she trains to scuff her boots so deeply. 

She offers to buy him his tea. He buys her coffee instead, insistent. 

They sit at a table. She allows her alcremie to roam and drink the complimentary froth among the other loose pokemon. It chirps at her, tiny caramel-like hands asking to be held. Gloria almost gives in, instead directing it to explore the area and socialize. Kabu covers his smile with his tea, his own fondness growing. 

"I would like to request your help, if that's okay," she inquires and sips at her drink. Her hair's gotten even longer since she'd challenged him. Her hands are newly well-manicured, he notices, as they wrap securely around her cup. 

"I wouldn't have offered otherwise," he admits. It's been some time since anyone new had formally requested his training. Nearly two years. 

"My battle with Melony was hard on my arcanine. I wanted to add a bit more heat to my team for the finals. So, I managed to catch a sizzlipede on Route 3. But he's very…audacious." She hesitates in the description, eyes to the side as she finds the correct wording. He manages a mellow laugh into the steam of his drink, recalling his own experiences.

"They're usually very resolute," he agrees. He won’t say they’re nearly intolerable at the start, but he can admit that there is a reason no one trains them anymore. 

"Undaunted, definitely. Unfortunately, he's not settling well with my team. I was hoping you had some pointers, considering your centiskorch. I figure you'd caught him as a baby." Gloria offers her kindest smile, somewhat sheepish, telling him her struggles without confessing them out loud. 

"I did. He was just as intrepid." Memories of burned fingers and tiny, angry stares. 

"What would you recommend?"

He hums for a minute, eyes running across her alcreamie as it harmlessly rolls around the floor with a swirlix. He can see her scrutinizing his appearance in his peripheral, a modest smile tugging on the corners of her mouth against the rim of her cup. He thinks nothing of it. "Your toxtricity and alcremie are part of your primary team?"

"Right. I also have a dragapult and a noivern. Plus my drednaw and arcanine. I interchange my roserade and rillaboom." 

"How did you handle your drednaw?"

"She was surprisingly quick to settle. It took a few transitional periods because of my dragapult, but no more than three or four. Plus a few home cooked meals." 

"And your arcanine?"

She smiles fondly. Her eyes are distant despite her focus being on the table between them. She looks like she's in her own memory. He feels something tug at his chest, watching a sort of tender and affectionate emotion pull her from reality. It takes her a moment to speak, lips parting once or twice to find words. "He found me, really. He's more eager than anything." 

"Interesting. The pokemon you have so far are typically passive or curious in nature, save the drednaw. Sizzlipedes are aggressive and territorial. They're easily threatened and agitated. Any sort of soft tone will only reinforce that you can't handle their demeanor or needs. You must be firm. Almost demanding of them, while maintaining respect."

She perks, eyes focused as though she found understanding. "They say that's how they train police-involved pokemon."

"Exactly. They need a job. They need to respect you first, wanting to work. And after you earn his respect, you'll earn his admiration and cooperation." He takes a sip, still feigning interest in her alcreamie’s very animated conversation with the swirlix. "It will take time. But you'll find that connection."

"You're more sure than I am," she laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear like a nervous tick. 

"You'll be fine." He’s certain in reassuring her, more than convinced that she'd at least be perfectly fine. 

He walks her to the hotel west of the stadium, both accommodating the very slow pace of her pokemon who refused to return to her ball. The alcreamie gives in at the lift, visibly distraught despite Gloria’s leniency. When they finally depart he teases her with an acclamation to her success in the semi-finals. She only smiles with the slightest hint of a laugh, waving him off while returning her alcreamie to its ball. She picks up her shopping bags from earlier and departs for the inn, apologetic for the time.

He thinks she'll at least give Raihan a good run for his money. She’s confident with deadly, loyal pokemon. But she's young, inexperienced, and overly unassuming at times. And he considers that maybe Leon will either maintain his throne or lose it specifically to his brother. Kabu admits that, for a moment, he doubts she could subdue Raihan’s raw voracity. He’s nearly certain in thinking that Leon’s pace is still something she’ll struggle with. Her potential is there, but it’s the physical duress that he’s certain will expend her. 

And then she became the goddamn Champion. And he could only smile at his own inept lack of faith. 

* * *

End Chapter Two.


	3. Territorial

He wants tea on his way to the stadium. It's become a sort of necessary routine in the early hours that keeps him caffeinated to endure the day. The Battle Café is simple and impeccably clean. Dwight is at the counter, as always, wiping down displays. There's a lack of consumer traffic this early. The sun's barely out, everything is painfully bright, and the air is still humid and cold. His morning run ends at the little coffee shop, where he'll stay until 0800 when his gym doors officially open. 

He recalls seeing Gloria at the counter several months prior. In that simple dress with that god awful espresso and her endearing alcremie following at her heels. It'd been relatively crowded, more pokemon than trainers at the time. She had said kind things. She was as polite as she'd seemed and as shy as Milo had mentioned. But she had a distinct desire to be better, and he supposes that's how she dethroned Leon so viciously. 

He'd been on the sidelines of their match, watching intently beside his kin of losers. Hop had been eerily quiet. Nessa was progressively vocal. Everyone else fell somewhere in-between. At some point, he'd watched Hop tense visibly when a literal rock went flying towards Gloria's head. The younger had jolted forward as though he were to take some idiotic action to prevent her from sustaining injury. But her toxtricity had been barely fast enough to take the blow for her, and had solidified its stance after the damage, bleeding and ready. He recalls watching its lanky form straighten up, seeming to grow a head taller by altering posture alone. Its expression still careless and laid back, but its arms were tense, defending her firmly. 

That match had told Kabu that her pokemon love her dearly. That they would do anything for her. Many people do and would, he'd surmised. 

The match is still vivid in his head all this time later. Dwight hands him his tea. They exchange a brief moment of words on the weather. And then he turns to be on his way. Until she walks through the door,  _ speak of the devil _ , distracted and in an odd ensemble that hid all of her features. The little chime rings, bringing Dwight's attention to the front. Where Gloria discreetly scolds her toxtricity as she makes her way into the café, adamant that it wait outside for only a brief moment. The toxtricity is tall and looming, hardly able to fit in the door. Kabu sees now that it is male, being this up close to view its frills. 

This same pokemon that he'd watched bleed on the battlefield sticks his tongue out at her crudely, agitated by her cross tone and reluctant demeanor. He impatiently eyes his trainer through the windows, expecting her to be quick. 

She shakes her head as though exasperated, then turns around fully to continue into the café. Kabu says nothing as she stops abruptly, barely an inch away from colliding with his chest. She's huffing as though out of breath. She has a scarf on and her hair is pinned into a bun on her neck. He angles his head down to meet her eye line, which is impeded by sunglasses and colored contacts. She watches him raise an eyebrow, lifting her sunglasses briefly to confirm it was someone she knew. 

She blinks once. Twice. A sheepish smile and a step back to maintain her personal space. She turns a deep red and mumbles a quick apology, his name being whispered as quick as her flustered breath.

"Champion," he greets. She sets a firm finger against her lips, essentially telling him to shut the hell up. Her eyes dart left and right. Dwight is watching the exchange from behind his counter, withholding a laugh at her expense. There's a man reading a newspaper in the corner, oblivious to much else. 

Kabu smiles and hands her his tea. 

"Take this one. I'll manage another." He recalls on their last visit she'd ordered that awful espresso, but admitted her fondness for green and barley teas. Another peculiarity. Very Hoenn of her, if he admits his mildly biased assumptions about Galarians. 

"Thank you," she smiles warmly and immediately turns to leave. 

He glances up to watch her rush out, her toxtricity eyeing him with malice and an unspoken threat through the window. He puffs out his broadened chest, the protruding organs heaving with electricity as a territorial warning. The pokemon bares his teeth as Gloria mindlessly grabs the giant’s lanky wrist and steers him to leave, still surveying her surroundings for the undoubted onslaught of paparazzi. 

Kabu turns back to Dwight to re-order, oblivious to his own smirk. 

* * *

End Chapter Three.


	4. Burns

He wipes the sweat from his forehead with his towel, discarding it on the locker room bench before toying with the code to his personal compartment. His centiskorch hums before curling into a pile, resting his extensive body on the opposite end of the same seat. His own routine parallels Kabu's, to an extent. He'll nap for half an hour until his trainer is done with his shower and shave. Then they'll get dinner and head home. This was so ingrained that it posed as stability and comfort. They'd kept this up for as long as the centiskorch could recall.

Kabu praises the bug for his duress on the field, tossing his shirt beside the pokemon and the towel. He'd knowingly done well, happily clicking at his trainer, content and warm and tired. It's a minute of languid silence, where the only noise is Kabu's meddling in his locker and his pokemon's barely audible breathing. But his head perks swiftly, flames growing as he focuses on a second presence approaching the door. 

They hear a knock. A mild, hardly audible knock. His centiskorch tilts his head, pupils dilating. He straightens out a bit, unraveling slightly and curling in his many legs. Kabu smiles at his curiosity, recalling the very early days of unnecessary violence and hissing. 

"Come in," he throws the invitation loosely, unfolding a fresh towel and draping it over his neck for the shower. He tosses his compression sleeves over his locker door. He caps his water bottle after a sip. 

The gym leader expects his manager. An employee. A custodian. Maybe even Milo since they'd planned for a match tomorrow morning. 

But instead the Champion rounds a row of lockers, this time free of her hastily put together disguise. Both he and his pokemon tense visibly at the unintended intrusion. She pauses and starts to greet him, her eyes assessing his state of undress briefly before falling onto his pokemon. Gloria grins broadly, immediately dropping her travel bag and crouching before the centiskorch to acquaint herself. She extends her lax hand as a polite introduction, seeming to have forgotten the man’s existence. He blinks hard, hesitant in thinking that his own embarrassment of the situation would only make it awkward, as Gloria hadn't seemed to notice his lack of attire at all. Either that, or she hadn't cared. 

So he stands there shirtless, certain that he looked like an startled idiot, with each hand holding either end of the towel draped around his neck. Whereas she's preoccupied herself in coddling his centiskorch. And neither of them have yet to say a single word.

"He's beautiful," Gloria finally mumbles something to break the ice. "His name is Fudo, right?"

Her fascination is so apparent that it borders infectious. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her mouth in concentration and her knees firmly meet the floor as though to solidify her position beside the bench. She had this look about her that tells him she’s determined. The face she’s wearing is both ridiculous and endearing. She’s seen many pokemon before, including this one. Yet here she is, enamored and thrilled to meet him up close and off the field. 

Kabu feels a swift rush of blood in his chest, like a hammer to a nail that impacts decisively and runs up his neck. He ignores it, assessing her demeanor, watching the gentle motions she takes to calmly run her fingers atop Fudo’s head. She’s careful to maneuver around the inconsistent flames protruding from his mandibles, and her touch is light enough that the bug wriggles his body as a pleased, happy response. Kabu can visibly see the flames shrink, meaning he's lowered his body temperature to a more forgiving degree. 

She laughs, glancing up at him, waiting for his reply to her question. Her eyes crinkle at the edges into her smile. “Kabu?” 

He blinks hard again. He wonders if it’s a health concern. He feels like he’d lost minutes into a second before giving her an answer, shaking off the vertigo. 

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve seen him in the gym pamphlets.” 

“Oh I never read those,” she admits, scratching under Fudo’s chin. “Too long. But you used his name a few times in our battle.” 

The traitorous bug makes happy chirps. 

“I forget that I tend to," he admits. 

“Fudo is a Hoenn god of protection, right? He lives on a mountain of fire? Or surrounded by fire?” She bites the inside of her cheek, thoughtlessly petting in the process of trying to recall the details. “I don't remember, but it seems fitting.” 

“Surrounded,” he confirms. It was admittedly an odd thing to know. Hoenn mythology is uncommon in this end of the world. His brows pinch, curiosity peaked. “Are you familiar with the Hoenn region?” 

She nervously waves off his question, stiffening into her answer. “It’s just something my dad used to mention. My brother had a Blaziken they almost named Fudo.” 

“I see," he withholds any disappointment, because oddly enough she's just lied to him. The hesitation and uncertainty in her face was brief, but he was right to think she was horrible with dishonesty when they first met. Her entire demeanor changed. His centiskorch clearly hasn't noticed, still happily wriggling on the bench under her careful hand. 

A part of him is soured at his pokemon’s obvious shortcomings. Watching his most powerful companion fold at the slightest show of affection was laughably absurd. A literal creature of fire melts and rolls to expose his belly as she continues to scratch beneath his chin and at the joints of his legs. If he had a tail it'd be wagging. She coos at him like a baby and he revels in it like the brat he his, clearly spoiled by the attention and media. Kabu chuckles to himself at the thought of his once belligerent and violent sizzlipede now a mellow, benign pet to a tiny woman. It almost feels like betrayal. 

"This is embarrassing for everyone," Kabu crosses his arms to conceal his chest and rubs at his eyes like the tired old man he insists he is. Her laugh is light. 

"Not at all. He's adorable." 

"He's a massive bug. He’s seven feet tall. When he's on the field he exceeds 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit," he extends a hand out as a gesture, humoredly smirking at the narrowed look his pokemon throws at him mid-wiggle. “Yet here he is, rolling around like a yamper.” 

"Do you use Fahrenheit because the number’s more impressive?" She raises a challenging eyebrow, grinning like an idiot. 

He smiles wide in return. He'd been caught. "980 degrees Celsius doesn't have the same dramatic impact." 

"You _are_ very good at being dramatic." 

"Compared to who? Milo?"

"I suppose if we count Leon and Opal you’re not _so_ bad." He admits that her comment almost stings. Surely he's not that dramatic. 

"Regardless, it’s less imposing," he jests, watching the critical look of offense on the bug’s face. 

"I think he’s very imposing. Aren’t you, Fudo?" She makes baby talk to a scalding warrior while taking precautions not to burn her hand against the hot plates on his underside. She's all smiles, he thinks, even while her hand is reddening against a heat comparable to a gas stove. She gently flicks her wrist as she stands, casually blowing cool air over the slight beginnings of a burn on her skin. 

"And you burned yourself in the process?" He sighs, reaching into his locker for the cool stainless steel of his water bottle. He rounds the bench to hold her wrist out, briefly examining her hand before setting the water over the redness. He’d considered an ice or water-type for this purpose alone. The issue of compatibility with the rest of his team made him reconsider.

“Sorry.” 

“I’d be lying if I said it never happens. It’s nothing to apologize for.” 

She goes quiet for a moment as they stand in the empty locker room, the sting of her held hand abating. They both intently watch his pokemon grow sour at the sudden lack of physical attention. Fudo makes an undignified noise. She laughs, fully and loudly as he slithers beneath the bench to brood. 

"Thank you, again. For the tea from earlier." She mentions their exchange and he almost forgets that it'd happen that morning. 

"I was afraid you'd be in for coffee," he jokes.

"I was, but that was perfect, actually. Probably better for me than sugar and milk."

"I assumed you were dodging the paparazzi," he sighs and adjusts the curve of the bottle against her hand, watching her face for any signs of obvious discomfort with the cold and condensation. Her fingers twitch slightly. She's not restless. She's not uneasy with the contact. It's loose and gentle...less than cautionary. 

"I'm sure you've no idea how that feels," she says with dripping sarcasm. Perhaps a reference to the distressing amount of images of every gym leader that circulate on social media. He often can't eat without an unseemly photo being taken. Nessa, often prioritizing her fashion and appearance, seemed to take the uninvited criticism the hardest. Raihan lives his entire life in a perpetual pose. Kabu used to care. Not lately. 

"None at all," he jokes back, smirking. 

"Speaking of that..." she pauses, trying to find appropriate words, eyes glued to the lockers. "I’m sorry if I was staring." 

His eyebrows go up. He's not forgotten his lack of attire, but his hope was that it would be irrelevant. She's very blunt about the whole thing, lacking any sort of obvious fluster or chagrin. He goes to open his mouth for some kind of coherent sequence of words, but she beats him to a response. 

“I was curious. They’re always rumoring about the burns on your arms.” Ah. She meant the scarring. “I thought it was interesting to see it was true.” 

"I'm sure that wasn't exaggerated," he admits. But that was the risk of dealing directly with fire-types. Hoenn trainers wear them like earned badges. In Galar...he'd rather not. There are thin sections that wrap up his forearms where the texture is smooth with obvious discoloration. Where old tattoos were interrupted and damaged by the healed skin. Where he'd been too close to his arcanine. Another set from when his ninetails had been a nervous vulpix. Another from sizzlipede. Others he doesn't even recall. 

"They're not bad at all, actually." He wonders if she's fibbing to be kind. He can't tell in this instance if she's bending her truthful opinion into something he wants to hear. But at least she's more fascinated with the physical consequences of his profession rather than their proximity and situation. 

"No need to downplay the severity. I know what bad looks like," he exhales out of relief, a slanted grin that tells her they don't bother him puts her at ease. 

“I have my own, if that helps?” 

His eyes run up her forearms, free of any significant damage. 

"On my back." 

“What did it?” 

“You’ll laugh,” she grins to herself. He highly doubts that. 

“I have marks from a sizzlipede. I doubt there’s anything less threatening.” 

“When Tox was a baby I startled him. Gave me a bad electrical burn up my spine,” she laughs again. She’s chuckling like it’s nothing. “I was really lucky. It was a flash burn. Maybe an arc burn. It threw me a few yards away.” 

“This is the same toxtricity you have now?”

“Of course. I woke up to him curled up against my chest and crying. He was just a baby. He couldn't control it back then.” That same look of euphoria crosses her. Like she was reliving the best parts of that moment. Her hand twitches in his, eyes intent on the furthest wall of the room. She remembers rousing in pain, with the little purple mass trembling against her chest, curled up and completely oblivious to its own severity. The same tiny creature she’d hatched from an egg, barely competent and wobbly and new…was, somehow, the same egotistical jackass that lackadaisically fights her battles and licks passing car windows just to piss off the drivers. He was grown up. No more crying. She smiles to herself.

“No one took you to the hospital?” Kabu brings her back, and she blinks in response. He wonders where exactly she goes and why so often. He wonders what it's like to get so lost in old memories when she hardly has any. She's too young to have that look on her face. 

She sheepishly acknowledges him as he continues to rotate the bottle on her hand. “I was camping at the Lake of Outrage. That cut my trip short, obviously.” 

“With only your pokemon?” 

“How do you think I trained to beat Leon?” 

That...had never even crossed his mind. And even now, she looks at him peculiarly as though camping was specifically for a single person. As if the notion of bringing someone else was unheard of. And he should know by now that her team is relentless. The wild, with only her pokemon, may not have actually been a serious threat. 

He sighs and releases her hand, mumbling how it should be fine now, barely singed. Literally nothing compared to an electrical burn. She smiles and he creates some distance. His own painful awareness of their physical contact is making him tense. He can't place why. Maybe it's been a while since anyone had been so blunt with him. Maybe he felt embarrassed of his own undignified appearance or lack of forethought. Or perhaps everything about her visit is just emphatically inappropriate. Kabu shoves the water bottle to the farthest corner of the locker. Then he shoves the thought into the back of his mind.

"Sorry. Your centiskorch really threw me off,” Gloria laughs as though embarrassed, rubbing her cooled hand. “I wanted to ask if I could repay your tea with an afternoon coffee?" 

He stops. If he didn’t know better, though he certainly did, he’d typically think she was propositioning him for a date. But that was unlikely. Because he thinks it would be wrong, and she's surely oblivious to how she sounds. He also thinks that she’s madly hung up on Leon...or...maybe his brother? He hasn’t listened to Nessa enough to be entirely certain. But the media talks and so do his colleagues. And he knows that there is some ridiculous betting pool surrounding the whole rumor. 

"That's not necessary," he declines. She bites her cheek, and tucks hair behind her ear, and smiles at the floor despite the man turning back to his locker. That same look crossed her face. The one he saw when they first met on the field. That absolute certainty and confidence. He couldn’t face it. 

"I insist, unless you have somewhere important to be in the next hour?" 

“I’m sure Galar’s Champion has better things to do in her spare time.”   
  
“Better than having good coffee with an important friend? How little do you think of me, Kabu?” She teases him, the slightest smirk giving her away. He rolls his eyes. 

“You think an old coot like me has any right to judge you?” He scoffs a laugh. 

“As much of a right as I have to judge you.” 

“In your mind, maybe.” 

He shuts the locker. Fudo’s mandibles peak out from beneath the bench, antennae making char lines alongside the many he’s created in the past. Gloria bends to watch the glow of his eyes blink peculiarly under the seat. 

“So?” She gives Kabu her full attention, again much to his centiskorch’s chagrin. "Or we could have a last minute exhibition match?" 

There's a taunt in her expression. A less than kind challenge that told him he'd be losing to her for a third time. She smiles coyly, leaning forward on her toes and extending a hand to shake as though a demon sealing a soul-binding agreement. 

He wants to say no to both relentless options, but that self-satisfied look on her face is rather rare these days, given the stoic despondence she wears for the cameras. And she’s fun, which is something he's been told that he desperately needs more of by his younger associates. She’s asking out of kindness and reciprocation of his own politeness. There is no ulterior motive, no intent or irresponsibility in accepting. It’s two colleges in the same field exchanging words. So his brow pinches as he smiles, agreeing to coffee rather than ruthless battle. He asks for a few minutes to finish his routine. She beams with a full grin, swiftly reclaiming her frilly travel bag and turning to leave the room. She reassures that she’ll be waiting in the lobby, undoubtedly swarmed by fans. 

He thinks, as she leaves the room, that he'd like to see her smile like that a second time. 

* * *

End Chapter Four.


	5. Insistent

Of course she wants to go to the café again. It’s the closest to the stadium, she enjoys the small talk with Dwight, and it's frequently crawling with various trainers and their teams. Although he finds it typical of _anyone_ to be enamored by pokemon, specifically those of a more uncommon nature, he finds that Gloria outright _adores_ them. Explicitly in a way that is more telling of her dislike for people, rather than her fondness of animals. 

He thinks it's bitterly laughable, considering her current occupation is comparable to an endless press-conference. She speaks to more people in an hour than pokemon she'll meet in a day. 

"Thank you," he sips at the double shot, mocha-whatever sugar coffee, admitting begrudgingly that it isn’t _awful_ . She’d encouraged him to be bold and try it. Rather, she’d _challenged_ him to. And his pride forced him out of his own comfort zone, much to her humor. 

He doesn’t hate it. But it’s a dessert drink, if anything. 

"For what? Repaying you?" She has a black tea with milk. After all his time in Galar, he still finds the combination nearly intolerable. 

"For even considering it." 

"With all the advice you've given me? I owe you more than a coffee." Her smile slants to one side coyly. He thinks nothing of it. 

"Hardly, Champion." 

She huffs a laugh into her drink, fingers lacing around the cup. It's white ceramic with a cartoony Swirlix face, rounded and stout. It's accompanied by a matching plate with a lemon and a cup of honey. His own is a standard to go cup with the cafe logo and a cardboard ring for insulation. He concludes that Dwight's a tacky kiss-ass. Then again, she _is_ the Champion. 

The steam is prevalent and he watches her inhale it as though a godsend. The room is warm, but the outside air is cold, and they'll expect heavy rain within the week. Nessa's team would be ecstatic. His own, not so much. 

"How long has it been since you've gone home, Kabu?" She breaks the comfortable silence, her eyes focused on a Riolu that's seated at a table across the room. The trainer is making small talk with their company, and the pokemon is adorably licking something off a plate. The corner if her mouth twitches up again; more sincere this time. 

He blinks. It's an odd question. "I...was home this morning." 

"I meant the Hoenn region," she laughs at his absent-mindedness, looking back to him from the prior distraction. Her full attention and complete eye contact narrow into him. As though she would never forget just a slight stumble of thought. It makes him feel absolutely, incompetently helpless. 

This was part of how she won battles. Her haughty, critical demeanor during the fight makes a trainer question their own capacity. 

He feels himself smiling despite his own inattention. "At least a year and a half." 

"That long?" 

"I didn't feel the need to visit lately." He takes a longer sip of coffee. She looks perplexed. Her eyes are darting between his shirt collar and his eyeline. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and she bites the inside of her cheek. He’s seen the same actions in the same consecutive order before, on several occasions. He wonders how often she does it. 

"I noticed you've almost entirely lost your accent,” she mentions between sips. 

"Tends to happen if I stay away from home for awhile. I hardly notice."

"Well, a Galarian accent suits you." There's a slyness to her smile that he ignores. Whether it be for his own sanity or out of respect, he doesn't know. But he quickly averts his focus to the Riolu, assuming he misunderstood her naturally playful demeanor. 

She acts this way with everyone, he thinks. She wears these flattering clothes for the camera. She feeds friends lighthearted compliments as often as she does to him. She asks _all_ the gym leaders for advice, and she _certainly_ visits the others after matches on a consistent basis. Truthfully, he's never seen her interact with the others enough to know. But Kabu defends her behavior regardless, because thinking otherwise is firmly distasteful. Considering her small mannerisms as signals or invitations would be morally repugnant. He’s known for his culture and courteousness. His reputation is that of a refined, capable mentor. 

It’s all a loss to him when she crosses her legs under the table, resting her raised ankle firmly against his calf. 

His jaw clenches. 

“But it’s been awhile since I’ve heard a proper Hoenn accent,” she mumbles. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even acknowledge the contact. She acts like nothing’s changed. He wonders if she’s even noticed it. 

He clears his throat, changing the subject. "What's your explanation?"

"For?"

"You know a good amount about my culture. Have you been there?" 

"Several times. My..." she hesitates, thinking. Her eyes dodge him briefly, and her legs uncross, withdrawing her ankle. "My father's from Ever Grande."

He’s relieved, and smiles kindly at the coincidence. "I'm from the countryside, just South of Ever Grande."

This makes sense. She doesn't look entirely Galarian. Everyone assumes Alolan, but she's never confirmed it. Being mixed is a reasonable explanation. He's surprised that her manager hasn't used it as an opportunity to appeal to the ethnic community. It's all public record. But the confirmation is key. Her yes or no responses are what builds her rapport. 

"So you know the dialect?" She asks, eager. Her elbows touch the table and she leans in, expectant, and her fingers lace firmly around her drink. 

"Of course." 

She thinks for a moment. He can see the wheels turning as she taps her nails against the ceramic of the cup. Her teeth dig into her cheek before she quirks her head. She's painfully transparent. He finds it endearing, to an extent. He wonders if it's why she so avidly avoids interviews. He wonders if it's why Leon is so overprotective of her image. 

"I'd like to go see him. But, there's a slight language barrier. I embarrass myself with the little bit I remember from when I was a kid. My mother's no better." 

He opens his mouth to respond, only to hesitate. His lips press into a line. He finds it odd. That if there’s a language barrier, then the man can’t speak the dominant language in Galar. And if her mother struggles with Hoenn, then her parents have a barrier with one another. And it somewhat brings to light why her heritage is so questionable among the media. Why her family isn’t flaunted as Leon’s had been. She may have a broken home. Or perhaps, at least, an incomplete one. But she’s polite, and apparently happy, and considerate. So nothing outlandishly bad or unfortunate, he assumes. 

But the media would imply things with that information if she confirmed it. They would use it against her. The new Ballonlea gym leader is being torn apart on the tele, specifically concerning his lack of viable, responsible parents. Opal was relentless on the paparazzi. More fire than fairy.

"Your mother had a child with a man she couldn't communicate with?" He finally asks, more curious than judgemental. He admits he could have phrased it better. 

She swallows, running her fingers up her cheek to tuck more hair behind her ear. She does it twice. He confirms it is a very nervous tick. One that seems nearly compulsive. "Is it embarrassing to say yes?"

"No,” he reassures with a smile. “Just a unique situation." 

“It was fine, growing up. I just wish I could have seen him more frequently.” 

“Clearly you’re not unfamiliar with your father's culture.” 

"He was there, just once a year." She has that distance, suddenly. The one where she leaves their conversation to live through the memory in her head. The one where the fondness she recalls is almost infectious. Her smile is small and longing. She's staring off at the Riolu, lost long enough for Kabu to finish his last sips of coffee. There's a thick chocolate at the bottom that he'd rather not finish. What was left of the mocha. 

"This wasn't terrible," he mumbles. Because it wasn't. And he may or may not have another. Perhaps once a year. 

And he considers that his time with her was not terrible either. And that he would gladly sit with her over this crisis of a drink more than once a year. He thinks, watching her settled at the table, elbows firm against the table and fingers laced lazily around her drink, that he could talk with her like this at least every day. That they could spend time in an oddly comfortable silence between bits of conversation. That he could maybe appreciate her as a person more than he would the others, regardless of the quality of the coffee. 

"Would it be rude of me to ask for your help with the language? I'd pay you." Her question is swift and direct, a smile pulling at her lips as she bites the inside of her cheek again. 

"You're asking for lessons on Hoenn?" 

"If you're okay with it. I understand if you don't want to." She sighs, something mischievous about her expression. Gloria angles her head down to look at the table, eyes glancing at him through her lashes. Something dangerous strikes him. "Or, perhaps...can't? " 

Kabu smirks, pressing his lips together at her audacity. He straightens up, glancing out the windows at the slow decrease of staring pedestrians. She's challenging him to decline and it's written all over her smug little face. Gloria's haughty fortitude has won her battles before a pokemon even hits the ring. There's a confident poise that he's seen others mistake for imperiousness. But he can barely see her still biting her cheek. And her index finger runs circles around the rim of her half full cup as though nervous. Her physical mannerisms betray her intended tenacity. Kabu thinks they've come far in only one match and a few conversations. Or perhaps it's simply his incredulous scrutiny of her appearance and character that makes him feel close. As if his fondness for her boils over every time they speak. 

"I'd be more than happy to," he accepts. Her grin goes wide and he catches the briefest glimpse of her teeth. 

She leans forward, her hand lightly firming atop his in gratitude. "Thank you."

His arm goes stiff under the physical contact. He only nods as a response, maintaining his outward composure. It's then he sees the few people left in the café staring. Dwight included, his focus torn from his own pokemon to the gym leaders. Kabu steadily retracts his hand to grip his finished drink, brows pinched as he smiles calmly and politely. 

"How often would you like to train?" He changes the subject, cautious of his wording under the scrutiny she either did not notice or blatantly ignored. Train seems like an appropriate word. Inconspicuous and common to their profession. 

"Whatever suits your schedule. I have plenty of time these days, I think." 

He laughs. "I doubt that."

"Well.” She sighs. “I'll make the time." 

"Fridays, then. My schedule should typically run later than yours. Meet me after matches in the stadium." Kabu crosses his arms, suddenly defensive, intent on putting physical distance between them. 

"Okay." She notices, her eyes flicking to his chest and back. "I can make that work." 

"I'll send you the times."

"Perfect." She hands him her rotom phone and he enters his number. 

Her grin is childishly wide, and she's shifted her seat closer. She smells like earl grey and rosemary, and her hair is long enough that he feels it on his arm. She starts to dig through her bag as though oblivious to her closeness. He sends himself a confirmation text from her phone while she mumbles something to herself about forgetting to buy Tox vitamins at the clinic. And when his phone finally dings to inform him of the notification, he stands abruptly as she sets a tip down on the table. 

Kabu throws down his own, insistent he cover it. She says they can both leave half, which he agrees to in haste. And they leave, because the room is becoming unbearable, and he can feel eyes and sense rumors. And she seems completely unconcerned, only rushed to match his pace. 

He walks her to the inn. Quickly this time, without her alcremie to elongate the trip. The weather is muggy and the sun is setting and it's that idle grey between rain and evening. He leaves her at the lobby. She sets a hand on one of his crossed arms as she says goodbye. And he only smiles at the gesture, tense, yet still intent on being polite. Her hand lingers and naturally runs down his tricep as she turns to leave, running off from his elbow as she walks away. 

He makes eye contact with the concierge, who ducks down to act as though she’d never even glanced.

He wonders if this is all on purpose. He battles with himself in thinking this is either an immature joke, or she's naturally a touchy person. Regardless, he'd unwisely agreed to see her once a week. His pride had manipulated him into teaching her a whole goddamn _language_. Kabu inhales, chiding himself. 

He heads home and skips dinner entirely.

* * *

End Chapter Five.


	6. Signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a VERY long chapter. Thank you for reading<3

Kabu sees nothing about their encounter in the café on the tele. He checks his social media and finds nothing but a plethora of unchecked notifications. Oddly enough, it's all mostly tags from Raihan. He may be paranoid, sitting at home in his sweats and a tank, concerned over something as frivolous as what would likely be a garbage-quality image that may or may not even exist. He laughs at himself. He's too old for this, maybe.

His ninetails stretches beside him, paws out as she yawns wide. A high-pitch whine escapes her. He sets an idle hand between her ears, his legs crossed on the couch as he scrolls through his feed. 

He's relieved that the only recent images he finds of himself are ones specifically of Raihan, where Kabu's caught in the background, oblivious to the younger's compulsive need to share imagery. Another set was his most recent exhibition match with Milo. Another one being an old repost by a fan from his battle with Gloria from eight months prior. He now recalls very obviously why he refuses to open the app; it's been over fifteen minutes of mindless scrolling and absolutely _no productivity_. 

But he admits to his ninetails that he's fond of seeing Milo's ridiculously consistent posts on farming. And Nessa's modeling shoots are vastly popular, without surprise. And Melony has images of her and her son out to dinner. And for a moment he does lose himself in the Champion tags. Gloria had a new magazine cover for Contest Weekly and she's stunningly serious leaning on her arcanine. Black dress. Red and orange heels. Hair down, wildly. It's image 1 of 6. She likely has a shot for each of her team. But people are perverse. And the crudeness of the comment section is enough for him to finally lock his phone. 

His pokemon yawns again. He returns her to her ball. He'd check again in the morning. Just to be certain. 

* * *

There’s nothing posted about it, and he hasn't seen her for almost a week. But her confirmation text asking him what time she should be over distracts him from his discussion with Leon. And Kabu can’t help but give his full attention to the message, responding promptly that he’s already done with his training matches for the evening, and any time is workable. 

It is widely known that Leon is as nosy as he is terrible with directions. And the former champion, as genuine and kind as he is by nature, loves to involve himself in the lives of his closest adversaries and friends. Bluntly, Leon likes gossip. And Leon likes to resolve gossip. And that’s perfectly okay. 

So it doesn't surprise Kabu at all when he inquires astutely as to who the gym leader is texting. Because it is a known fact that Kabu doesn’t text back. And if he does, it’s a single word response. Not a paragraph. And certainly not immediately. And Leon knows this as an undisputed truth. 

"Gloria." Because what's Leon going to do? Make assumptions? 

"What, are you two dating?" Leon jokes. Kabu regrets every decision he's ever made. 

"Hilarious."

They're standing in the entry tunnel to the field, Leon having been interested in the application of will-o-wisp to his own team. The best place to spectate its use would be Motostoke, inarguably. And he hadn't been disappointed, though he rarely is. Yet the professional conversation had led into personal, and then to his own hesitation in competition since his absolute decimation by Gloria, and finally to Kabu reinforcing that he couldn't be champion forever. Because what even is the point, if that's how he feels? But now it's trivial talk. Leon's preferred category of communication. 

"Raihan's been dying to get her phone number," the former champion laughs. "Not like he's interested. He just wants to feel included." 

"He doesn't have it?"

"Nope. Only Nessa, Milo, Piers and Melony. And Bede, for some reason." He counts them off on his fingers, humming between each name as he confirmed. "Raihan's asked her like four times. She says she'll text him. Never happens.” 

Kabu smiles, and almost laughs. Because Raihan suffering over something as trivial as Gloria forgetting to text him is redundantly humorous. The kid wouldn’t know a real problem if it knocked him on his ass. Leon chuckles and scratches mindlessly at his beard, eyes back to scanning the eerily level surface of the field. It's a lot more red than he's used to, compared to the grass in Wyndon. 

“She’ll be here later, if you’d like to wait around," Kabu mentions, recalling that they're childhood friends. That he'd endorsed her and his brother when they were 16, and they waited a full two more years before the pair could finally compete. 

“I might. It’s good that she’s training here." Leon makes another assumption. And Kabu holds his tongue, unwilling to interrupt him if only to clarify that she's not visiting for work. 

Kabu only hums a brief response. 

"Her team does really well offensively, but she needs to build on her defense against fire-types. She struggled with your centiskorch and just as much with charizard.” Leon pauses, brow wrinkling at the recollection of his own loss. He crosses his arms and leans on the wall, eyes fixating on the stadium field. “She still won.” 

“She did.” 

"She's something else." Leon laughs, discarding any prior negativity. 

"She is." He agrees, releasing his centiskorch from his ball. Gloria would want to see him. 

Fudo stretches, legs flexing one after the other. He curls up beside them, eyes fixating on Leon briefly before they close and he continues to rest. 

They chat for a half hour longer, both leaned against the walls of the tunnel, humored at just how harshly Melony shredded Raihan in their last exhibition match. Gloria finds them laughing. Leon has a good, wholesome laugh. She's always known that. His mother prides herself on two boys with strong laughs. And Kabu laughs brilliantly; a single laugh with a full grin that he directs to the stadium entrance. She catches it briefly, finding it infectious. She smiles as a greeting, her toxtricity following close behind. 

"Gloria! How are you!" She embraces Leon warmly, and Kabu observes it as though evidence. Proof that she was a handsy individual by nature. 

He catches the indignant stare of her toxtricity, which has a low rumble thrumming from his chest. He looms over her like a guardian, tall and defensive. He has a critical eye on the gym leader. Kabu exchanges a brief look with Fudo, who retaliates and stands at full height beside him, flaring a bit as response. Leon and Gloria pause, watching the fire type illuminate the tunnel, antennae blazing and underbelly glowing. The degree changes rapidly. Her toxtricity sparks, body stiffening to his full height as he pressed for a challenge. His attention moves from the trainer to his pokemon. It's uncomfortably warm, suddenly, and Gloria can feel bits of static crack in the air as he seethes beside her, electricity arcing off his body. 

Kabu stands idle, watching the exchange flatly with his arms crossed. He's used to the heat. And it's an issue of territory that he's seen before. Nothing but threats. 

"Tox, stop it." She flicks his snout. He startles, immediately recoiling and retracting the static, expression one of a scolded child as she jabs a finger into his side. "Don't be a nob. We're not on the field."

They watch the lanky creature deflate, growling and baring teeth at the oldest among them in retaliation, then turning heel to stomp off towards the locker room entrance. Gloria tucks her hair behind her ear, laughing nervously. 

"I'm so sorry, Kabu. He's been cranky all day. This is unusual for him." 

He smiles to reassure her. "He probably remembers our last battle. He took a good hit." 

That's all bullshit and, for an odd reason, every one of them knows it. 

"Gloria-" Leon stops, thinking over his words cautiously. 

She's looking at him hesitantly, waiting for him to continue. He's the type of man where you can see his full thought process on his face. And she's watching him turn his question over again and again. Because something about what just happened felt suspicious. Like there was justification for it. 

It's clear to her that Leon wants to confront the issue. He wants to know why Tox is on the offensive towards Kabu, severely enough that he was ready to battle. Gloria always said he was drastically overprotective. She claimed he was naturally envious and apprehensive of people she talked of fondly and commonly. He didn't like names that came up often, her mother and Hop included, and he didn't like the idea of Gloria having close relations with anyone outside of her team. So Leon has a dozen questions that solidly hit the forefront of his brain, desperate for explanations. 

He doesn't ask a single one. He begrudgingly tells himself it's a topic for another day. "We should get dinner tomorrow, if you're still in town."

He changes the subject. Fudo decompresses, curling back into a pile at Kabu's side. 

"That sounds nice." She smiles. "I'll text you." 

He thanks Kabu and leaves, passing her pissed off toxtricity on the way out. The pokemon is seated on a bench in the locker room, mindlessly strumming a thumb against its chest in agitation. Leon gives him a single, firm pat on the shoulder as a reassuring goodbye, feeling a shock to his hand from the residual static. 

His hair stands on end, but he laughs it off, catching the stare of contempt the electric type is zoning into the floor. 

* * *

Their first lesson was extensive. Leon had left at 5:30pm. The gym doors closed at 6:00pm. And they were talking at the couches and table in the stadium lobby from then until 9:30pm. And by the end, she had a binder full of notes, handwriting impeccably organized, varying from basic nouns to full phrases. 

She'd asked him where to start. And he figured where everyone starts; at hello, then goodbye, and everything else in between. She claims to know some bits, but needs to work on others. She rolls her tongue correctly, and her accent is distinctly foreign, but fair considering her hometown. Her comprehension of the subject is natural. 

When he inquires on her capacity of the language, Gloria reassures that she'd studied diligently prior to asking him. She defends this, stating she doesn't want to fall behind with how much he knows already. Kabu catches it, then. That she'd lied again. But it's harmless, and she always seems nervous, save for her moments of intense determination and daunting confrontation. She may just feel pressure when anxious. 

She's seated to his right on the couch, notably close, and has her binder open on the table in front of them. He leans forward to assess her notes, legs open with his elbows supporting him on his knees. She slides closer. Her legs have been crossed for an hour. He wonders if they're numb yet, only somewhat attentive to her notes, and mostly concerned with her sudden proximity. Her notes are mostly correct, though. He finds mistakes that look intentional. Or misspellings correct in one sentence but wrong in another. Mixed words. Redundant things that look planned. 

It crosses his mind that she knows the language, and she's playing another game. But that's unlike her to toy with someone's time and effort, despite the evidence that he's reading to himself. 

He doesn't think he'd mind either way. Because watching her speak something so nostalgically familiar does something to him that's mostly sentimental. Her hands gesture so well when she forms sentences. Her annunciations are slow and practiced as though trying to refine what she already knew. But watching her hone that ability is what baits him out of his concentration and professionalism. She's casual and handsy and sweet in nature and she makes it _impossible_ to focus despite being intent on the subject matter herself. 

Gloria likes poking his arm with the eraser end of her pencil when she has an idea or a question. She enjoys crossing one knee over the other so that her ankle yet again rests against his calf. She's mildly inconsiderate in reaching across him to make notes on the page when he recommends she make a change, because she's left handed and decidedly sat to his right. She writes slowly to ensure it's legible and neat. Her arm runs against his once or twice in the process. He maintains through all of it. Because he's convinced they aren't signals. She's just oblivious and has no concept of personal space, as he'd seen with Leon earlier. 

But why tell him she doesn't know the language at all? 

He tells her to try using Hoenn for everything. Change her phone to the language once she gets good enough. Thinking in a different language is the best way to learn it. He says she can speak to him in whichever language she finds best at the time, and she seems enthused by the idea. The smile she gives him is the same one he'd thought was lovely. Because it is genuine and terribly rare. He thinks the charm of it is mostly how infectious it is. Or how well she wears it. Or maybe it's just independently stunning. 

She jostles Tox, who's been sleeping deeply on the farthest opposing sofa since they'd started. And who still has yet to properly acknowledge Kabu's existence or even look in his general direction since he was scolded so ardently. His body is draped over the furniture lazily, extended across nearly the entire couch. She drags him up and packs her things. Kabu leans dramatically back into the couch when she reaches across him to collect her pen and binder. Her toxtricity eyes him indignantly, so Kabu crosses his arms to insist that he won't touch her. Because clearly that was the bone that her pokemon had to pick. 

He unlocks the gym doors for them, then they depart. She thanks him again in the process. He looks at the clock and sighs at the time. He'd lost track of it. 

He supposes that it's easy to do with Gloria around. 

* * *

The next week is normal. They discuss pokemon and trainer terminologies while her arcanine and his ninetails have full authority of the field. He teaches her when to use formal and informal terms and how it applies to the battles. They go over pokemon commands and alternative names. She asks about training phrases and how they're worded differently. This is something she seems to be _genuinely_ clueless about. But she catches on, regardless. 

They take a break, and mid-conversation she mentions how terribly Leon dresses himself. Kabu can't help but laugh. She says the man _chose_ to wear the sponsor cape. That he felt the whole ensemble was ideal for modern fashion. That he wanted to _trend set._ At one point the older has a hand over his face, amused by her criticism. He's holding open a book she'd brought on Hoenn euphemisms with the other. Gloria is deathly serious, though, and he can't even look at her without a slight loss of composure.

"His mother was embarrassed of it. His matches were always early in the mornings and whenever we'd watch together she'd have Bailey's in her coffee," she says and shakes her pencil at nothing in particular, leaning back into the couch. 

He shakes his head, setting his ankle on his opposing knee, propping up the same hand holding the book. 

"I'm serious." She sits cross-legged, adjusting her knee until it's pressing lightly against his thigh. "Was it two years ago that he had that big awards ceremony? The one with the Unovan president? You were there, I think."

He inhales deeply. Because he _was_ there. And he _did_ remember. "The orange and yellow tux?"

"Kabu. The orange. And yellow. Tux." She presses her lips together to contain her sympathetic humiliation. "We were all embarrassed. His mother called his manager." 

He laughs again, forgetting her closeness. 

* * *

The third week they cover common phrases and survival terms. 

"Where is the bathroom?"

"I would like to order this item."

"How much is this?" 

It's normal. She's learning at the same pace. He's learning a bit from her in exchange during their breaks. She tells him about Alola because he's never been and probably never will. She tells him she struggled with the language and the flight was horrible. But her perspective on the people is surprisingly positive. She doesn't complain about the human aspect, and of course she would never complain about the pokemon. 

But she tells him the people are beautiful. And the ocean is gorgeous. It smells clean all the time and the food is to die for, like in Hoenn and Johto. The sand is soft, unlike their beaches, and the coldest air is still comfortably warm. She describes, in vast detail, the architecture and layout of the cities. The way the mist rolls off the mountains in the early mornings, when the daylight is only the brief beginnings of the sunrise. And she goes away again, momentarily as far as the islands are from Galar. She laughs, recalling something more playful than humorous, resting her chin on her hand. But the lightheartedness dries up quickly, and he sees reality strike her painfully back to earth. She grimaces, eyes trained on the far wall. 

"How much do I owe you for these sessions anyway, Kabu?" She pulls her feet up onto the couch and leans her back into his side, sprawling out and using him as support. 

"Forget it," he declines, briefly checking his phone to keep him preoccupied. 

"I guess I'll just buy you food," she mumbles, craning her head back to look at him. 

He doesn't look at her, despite the clear look of anticipation she has in his peripheral. Her back is warm against his arm and he can just barely feel the steady pulse of her heartbeat. It's distracting and rhythmic, but it feels _invasive_. The last human heartbeat he's ever felt, other than his own, had been in his bed. And that's not a memory he'd like to revisit in the immediate moment, where she's found herself so comfortable in his presence that full body contact seems acceptable. But he's not necessarily complaining. Because it is nice to think that she trusts him so implicitly. He's beginning to return the sentiment. 

He sighs, smirking. "That works." 

* * *

She keeps her promise the day after, and brings him takeout from an Alolan style place down the street. She doesn't ask him if he'll be in the stadium on a Saturday. He always is. And she doesn't ask him what he wants. He likes it, regardless. 

He asks her if it's comparable to when she was there. She smiles, and says the radish side and the sweet rice were right out of her memory, but otherwise, everything's better in its homeland. He thinks the same of Hoenn cuisine. Even Johto and Sinnoh. She must have read his mind, because she says maybe another time she'll pick up something from his region. 

The next day she arrives earlier than normal. She says that she wants to make up for the last three unpaid sessions. Gloria knows Sundays are introductory trainer's classes (free for locals), and that he prefers to spectate rather than let the staff handle it alone. So she brings something ridiculously spicy from Circhester, and they eat lunch watching the next generation of trainers. 

They sit in comfortable silence, and he watches her devour an vastly unanticipated amount of food in the process. He's content, because she's in a pleasant mood and it lifts his own. They make small comments on pokemon and battle form every so often. She stays for over an hour and then says goodbye early. He finds himself rather irritable after. 

Kabu texts her the day after that, asking if she'd like to actually eat at Dwight's café instead of just sip coffee. Because Mondays are always long and he'd like her company. And Dwight mentioned adding smoked arrocuda brioche to the menu, which she'd probably love. 

She texts back, from a photo shoot in Wyndon, fibbing that she's nearby anyway, and that she'll meet him there. 

* * *

The fifth week is normal. He sees her Thursday and Friday, then again on Sunday. It's on the verge of becoming a routine. But he justifies it with the lessons. That it's all finally clicking and she wants to speak it as much as possible. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy speaking his first language so frequently. 

Gloria walks onto the field, unannounced. The red rock of the floor was newly packed, and the lines are freshly painted. Kabu and Fudo are at center field with a woman. He's running a tactic by one of his gym trainers, Elle. And the woman's nodding at his critiques, her salandit ignoring the conversation entirely. He makes a gesture at the pokemon, one hand gripping the towel around his neck, the other motioning a path along the field, visualizing the maneuver for her. She smiles, the comprehension apparent in her expression. Her jersey is the same red as his, white shorts that are _unusually_ short. She's tall, long legs, wavy hair, dark skin. Gloria's seen her several times before. She thinks they'd even battled once during the championship season. She inhales deeply, running through her insecurities and forcing them down. 

Kabu sees her waiting, and tells Elle he'll follow up with her later. She thanks him and heads out, temporarily stunned at the sudden appearance of the Champion. Her salandit follows close behind, eyes lingering on his centiskorch a moment. 

He asks how her day went. She says it was busy. And it was. She'd barely had time to breathe. 

But she puts a pin in that conversation, and tells him she has something interesting to share. He watches her pull a pokeball from her travel bag. She polishes it a bit on the hem of her shirt before crouching closer to the floor and motioning a gentle toss. She introduces her sizzlepede, who has since stopped flaring his tiny mandibles. 

Fudo excitedly approaches. The smaller hisses defensively, flaring its little legs. The centiskorch reels, doubling backwards behind his trainer. 

"He's finally calmed down enough to meet other pokemon. I've been working with him every morning for the last few weeks." 

"He looks healthy," Kabu crouches down to better meet its level, cautious as it props up on its hind legs to stare daggers at his approach. He extends a careful hand, experimentally introducing himself. It reminds him of his first encounter with Fudo, the pokemon having been newly hatched. 

Gloria narrows her gaze into the smallest insect, tucking her hair behind her ear. "He _looks_ like he's being _rude_ and doesn't want any tomato berries for the _rest of the week."_

He turns his tiny body to stare at her, the wheels clearly turning in his head. He clicks his mandibles, sharp eyes running between his trainer and the gym leader. Then he crawls into Kabu's palm, curling into a ball to rest. 

He refrains from laughing and stands. His centiskortch follows, straightening on his hind legs, watching the exchange intently. 

"What does he know?" 

She runs a gentle finger over the bug's back, the heat reddening her fingertip. She's close. Her hair runs lightly against his forearm when she turns her attention to her pokemon. Her focus is solely on the red coil in his hand. 

"Ember, bite, and fire spin." 

"We'll have to teach him flame wheel." He mumbles it so seriously, as though it were now his responsibility to help. Like he was already setting up the training regiment in his head. 

She smiles. 

* * *

The sixth week they revisit what she'd learned so far. And he tests her verbally by speaking only Hoenn. It catches her off guard when he greets her, and she opens her mouth once or twice before that sly smile throws his challenge back in his face. 

She had little to no issues conversing with him. Her accent is improving in just five sessions alone, though he supposes it's technically the last two weeks on and off, considering her free time is spent frequently at his gym. He knows she practices on other days, additionally. He wonders if she speaks to herself in private as he had when he was learning a second language. Back when they'd first invited him to Galar. 

They throw random quips back and forth. She taunts him with an elaborate phrase, noting that maybe her accent is surpassing his own. He chuckles at the mere notion, telling her she sounds more like a foreigner than a half baby. She feigns offense with a hand to her mouth, grinning. 

She asks if he's going to the dinner hosted by some delegate from Kalos. Her manager encouraged her to attend, as Nessa and Melony would be there and she should keep up appearances. It would be a small group of important people for drinks at that overpriced restaurant with the view off the bridge. It overlooks the wilds. No trainer finds much interest in looking down over where they spent a whole chunk of their lives. 

He politely declines, because he wasn't invited anyway. None of the men were invited, save the new chairman. Because the delegate is, as Raihan had worded it, 'a woman stalking sack of shit'. And the reputation he holds is more focused on his grotesque comments about Oleana's ass rather than any actual delegate work. The thought agitates him, knowing she'll have to be within an uncomfortable proximity to the man. But Leon will likely invite himself, which is ideal. And Melony goes because she can handle the idiot well. Nessa is his favorite, unsurprisingly. 

Kabu tells Gloria she should head out early to get ready. He doubts her skirt and sweater will make for appropriate attire. She asks to use the locker room instead, as she's packed her outfit to accommodate her strained schedule. He says it's fine. 

She changes behind one of the shower curtains and he keeps testing her on when a formality is necessary and when it's not. His back is turned from her direction, arms crossed as he leans heavily into the lockers. She steps out in her full formal garb, hands balling up her sweater into her travel bag like a savage. He scoffs and takes the whole disaster from her, folding the sweater and packing it appropriately. She tucks her hair behind her ear, biting into her cheek as she watches his process. He says she looks nice, hardly glancing over the ensemble. She thanks him quickly, agitated that he hadn't.

He doesn't have to. The dress is long, a light champagne color. The dark contrast of her hair is sharp and a focus point. Her makeup is mild and hardly notable. Her heels are tall and thin. They bring the top of her head to his eye level and he finds it amusing. He's not that tall, and she's barley to his chin. _Piers_ is tall. _Raihan_ is _inhumanly_ tall. He remembers how absolutely minuscule she looked on the field during their battle.

She asks him if he could help her with a necklace Hop's mother had let her borrow. The clasp is small and she claims she's graceless when it comes to delicate, sensitive things like this. He thinks she's wrong. He's watched her gently scoop up her alcremie, insanely cautious to handle it despite the giddy blob winning literal fistfights. He's seen her tend to her toxtricity's wounds with the most careful precision and attention. She brushes her arcanine's mane as though he were a pageant competitor. He remembers how lightly her finger ran across the top of her sizzlipede. 

Kabu obliges, regardless. He's a very old-world gentleman, she thinks. The likelihood of him declining was next to none. 

She swoops her hair over one shoulder, out of the way. She hands him each end on either side of her neck, bringing one clasp under her hair. He attempts to clip it quickly, the back of his hand barely running against her neck. It takes him two tries, her hair barely catching his wrist. It fastens, and he double checks to confirm it was secure. She angles her neck as she puts in earrings, barely waiting for him to finish. They hang low and threaten to graze her collar bone. He follows the curve of her neck to the hem of the dress. He sees the brief beginnings of the scar she'd told him about crawl beneath the stitching and disappear. Her perfume is mild and familiar, likely some promotional brand he's smelt in the shopping districts. She glances at him over her shoulder, smiling sincerely and thanking him for the help. 

He only nods, stepping back, prepping her bag for her. They walk to the lobby. He turns off the lights and unlocks the door, holding it open as usual. He tells her to be cautious. It's not terribly late, but the streets are dark and the foot traffic is next to none. He worries, for no apparent reason. 

She manages a couple steps out before stopping to look back at him. He can see a question starting on her face as she drops her bag on the floor. "Can I ask you something, Kabu?" 

"You've never hesitated before." He crosses his arms, taking his usual stance, the open door leaning against his shoulder. She smiles at his playful derision. 

"Do you think it's ridiculous…" she pauses, toes curling in her heels and brow pinched with forethought. Her teeth dig into her lip. "...that I don't want to be the Champion anymore?" 

He doesn't. It's normal. "Gloria-"

"Everyone tells me that this position is all they ever wanted. But I feel stuck here. Like I'm out of my element and I can't get out." She pushes a lock of stay hair behind her ear; the nervous tick presents itself as always. 

"You are," he admits. 

"That's true," she laughs. "I hate this. It's bloody awful, innit?" 

He sighs, because he knows she's struggling. She's never admitted it, but he can see it in every photo. He can see it on her face when she walks through his doors. She wears it so obviously. "Compare your pros and cons. What's the best part about it?" 

"The pay," she laughs. 

" _Gloria._ " He doesn't. 

She tsks at him, biting her cheek to think. "The people. And the pokemon. I made good connections. I met you."

"And the worst of it?" Kabu leans further into the open door. It squeaks on the hinge. 

"I can't do what I want," she says bitterly. As if she'd been robbed of her free will. As though she were purchased. 

He doesn't know the details in being Champion. He never made it that far. He never will. But her face tells him the responsibilities are weighing. And he remembers the days where Leon would be visually distraught, beaten and depleted. But Gloria tends to hold things in. As tightly as a centiskorch holds its prey. And to see her complain, as understanding as it is, tells him she's hurting. 

"You've been free, lately." 

She crosses her arms to mirror him, nose scrunching at the thought. 

"Because I skip out on my manager. Normally, I have a schedule that controls my day, hour to hour. I have an eating regiment that's awful, plus exercise and training. All these photoshoots start to feel degrading. They want me to replace my alcremie because _she's not interesting_!" She raises her voice at no one in particular, throwing a hand out at nothing to express her frustration. But he startles. Because he's never seen her so cornered, or so belligerent and pissed. He finds that it makes her much more human, though he supposes he's never struggled to sympathize or understand her as if she weren't. 

He loses her momentarily. She gets lost in it. He can see the red creep up her neck, her hands balled into fists. She's shaking lightly, and he sighs again. He extends a hand and runs his knuckles against her arm, asking for her attention. 

"Gloria."

She blinks, eyes running down to the brief contact. Then loosens. Then sighs. Her lips press together into a line as she inhales, deep. She apologizes under her breath, the gradually soft look on her face reminding him that she's young. She collects herself and runs the edge of her finger under each eye, checking her mascara. A smile is slow to form as she assesses the look on his face, raised eyebrows questioning her outburst. 

"The worst thing, though, is that…" she thinks for a moment, eyebrows pinching together. She makes longer strides than normal in the heels, only taking a single step in his direction. She stands in front of him to straighten the collar of his uniform, hands correcting the fabric. He tenses, and she sighs deeply. "...I can't have what I want." 

Her eyes crawl up from his collar and run up his features until she's staring him down directly. He has nothing to say. Because his pulse is suddenly drastic and the look she has on is familiar, but also new. It's that determination and fire that she has in battle, coupled with something akin to agonizing defeat. It's the look he's worn a hundred times over. The feeling of a lost opportunity. Where you fought long and hard and you're ready to do it again and again. Where blood sweat and tears are the fuel and they will **_not_ ** go to waste over one loss. 

But it doesn't matter; the outcome doesn't change. And she realizes she's lost the war. Because winning isn't _actually_ winning, and Leon hadn't told her that before she kicked his ass. 

He doesn't think it would have made a difference. She would have gone through with it anyway. 

The necklace dangles over her collar bone. She's flushed red from her shoulders to the bridge of her nose. He tightens his crossed arms, the caution over his own responsiveness heightened. His focus is back and forth between her eyes and her mouth. Her lipstick is a dark red and it feeds his ego. She has that shit-eating grin on her face, despite the feeling of defeat. The one he thinks is fun and resolute, the one that reels him in. He wants to taste the corner of her mouth. Get past the perfume to the tea and rosemary. He **_wants_ ** to. 

But he doesn't. 

Because it's _not_ a signal. And it's not _appropriate_. And she's just...a very _young,_ very close _friend._

Gloria sighs. Her hands fall off his collar to collect her bag. She says she should start on the journey to her garbage dinner with the garbage Kalosian. She insists she's okay to walk alone. She can bring out Tox, if needed. He says he can at least take her as far as the hotel.

She reiterates that she's perfectly fine, and that she'll miss him at the dinner party. She gives his forearm a quick squeeze as goodbye, and he catches the edge of her scar again when she turns to leave. She rushes off with her bag, heels clicking loudly as she trots in the direction of the hotel, lifting her dress a few inches for improved movement. He finds his own focus following behind her. He should go with her. Or ask her to stay. 

He does neither. Because that's unseemly for his age and her clear inexperience. Instead he locks the door and sits on the lobby couch, head in hands like a stressed disaster, late at night with the lights off. Because _this_ is _seemly_ for his age, apparently. 

He wants to pull out his hair…

...and he wants to know how far down her scar runs. If it curves along her hip or creeps down even further. Or if it covers all of her back, or only a sliver of it. He wonders if it's that discolored pink all the way through. If it's erratic like the very nature that burned it into her. 

He thinks he wants to see it against the contrast of his sheets. He thinks he likes the idea of her dress being red, not champagne. He thinks he could hear her laugh for the rest of his life, every hour of every day, whether in his bed or on the field. He thinks _too fucking much_ , is what he _thinks_. 

He runs his hands over his face, exhausted and defeated, slouched over with his elbows on his knees. He spots her forgotten dynamax band on the table, blood racing. 

He thinks he's _a_ _mess_.

* * *

End Chapter Six.


	7. Like Likes

He doesn't confront the issue. He never will. She's nineteen, about to turn twenty. And he recognizes that this is his own problem. Albeit a drastic one, bent on destroying his emotional health and composure, but one he can pretend to forget. Kabu forces things to be normal. Because she trusts him implicitly, and therefore things _have_ to be normal. 

He returns her dynamax bracelet, but avoids looking at her for most of their next session. She notices, but says nothing. He stands for a lot of it, evading the possibility of physical contact. He can easily admit that he finds her attractive. More so in the last few months, as she's grown on him personably. But the extent is what concerns him. A feeling that is actually new, considering his experience. The same feeling that tells him she'd sound gorgeous in bed, and also in the mornings over breakfast, and probably at the park taking a walk, and even in the wild, training. His chest aches for an extensive amount of time. 

He's not rude to her, despite the lack of eye contact and his stoic disposition. He could never be, she knows. But maybe the forwardness she'd exhibited a few days prior was too much. Or perhaps, looking her best, he simply wasn't interested. It stings her, thinking that it's the most likely possibility. Because she's made it clear she likes him, she thinks. She's been as brazen as she can without using her words. Melony said it's best to use body language, which she relies on heavily. But she can't get a read on what he wants, or how he wants it. And the initial intention of a brief fling had quickly grown into the desire to be...more. 

She realizes this during their break, when he puts on his glasses to read a quick report that one of his trainers had handed off. She smirks, because those glasses _do something_ for him, outside of allowing him to read fine print. 

But she wonders if his vision is okay. He's complained about it before. That often he strains his eyes because he needs a new prescription. And his vision insurance is phenomenal, but it's really taking the time to _just go_ and get it over with. Maybe she should make a date of it? Convince Kabu that he could teach her related terminologies there rather than the stadium. He'd go if she urged him to. Maybe he'd escort her if she said she needed to go anyway and would prefer company. She could use a set now that she's frequently driving. 

She realizes that she's unintentionally _doting_ . And then it dawns on her that she's probably _too_ close to him. 

There's a thrill in her chest at the thought. Her toes curl, because she only feels absolutely eager to talk to him about it. That maybe she'd like more than a weekly outing or a one time sexual encounter. That maybe he'd spend the rest of the next few years with her, and see how it goes from there. Maybe proposition a relationship. Maybe be a public _thing_. 

But she's clearly taken aback when he intently evades the comforting hand she'd tried to set on his shoulder. And when she scoots closer to him, he up and leaves the couch entirely, excusing himself. It makes her uneasy. And it bloody _hurts_. 

So Gloria decides to give him space. Actually, to give both of them space. 

She leaves him a pack lunch before departing early while he stepped away. He comes back to it with a quickly scribbled note saying she had to meet her manager. It's rice and pickled vegetables, with a roll of egg. Kabu won't admit that it's blatantly Hoenn. He won't even think it. 

* * *

They're eight sessions in when she's finally unable to frequently attend them. The season will start up in another two months, meaning the pressure to improve becomes relatively crushing for all of Galar. So she's asked to travel to maintain her image among the other champions from the more significant regions. She's told to train in foreign places with foreign people to build foreign tactics. Because that's apparently what she needs, per her PR team and manager. 

She's gone for three weeks, and it feels like a piece of his routine is missing. Because she _is_ missing. Her presence has recently become his norm. Fudo looks for her, anticipating good food that he'd get scraps from. Because Kabu does _not_ give him scraps. Because Fudo is on a _strict_ protein-based diet that reinforces _a good constitution_ and _stamina_. 

...But Gloria gives him scraps. She'd asked Kabu if she could and he couldn't tell her no. So the centiskorch becomes moody. And everything sucks. 

But just because Gloria's not there, doesn't mean he won't see her. 

He reads through a digital article one day because it was impossible to ignore. She's caught speaking with a gentleman during her trip outside of Galar, somewhere in the West. The man is young, around her age, and has her hand in his, leading her through paparazzi. He's not Galarian. Most certainly not from anywhere between Johto to Sinnoh, and not Alola for sure. His face is concealed by sunglasses and his hair a beanie. A very Unovan type of fashion. The rumors are abhorrent. The photos are manipulated and edited to fit headlines. Kabu feels the same sympathy he had in Leon's first year, alongside a considerable agitation that leads to an extra twenty on weights and another half-hour run. 

Kabu swallows, because his throat has been deathly dry since he'd seen the online speculation. And despite all the water he'd drink there's nothing that fixes it. He slams his locker door unintentionally, startling his ninetails. He's tempted to throw himself into an exhibition match if only to blow off steam. He takes another run instead. The gym receptionist gives him a critical eye, noting that it's his third run of the day. 

It's only twelve hours later before more photos pop up at the top of Raihan's feed. He shares them only within their inner circle, more perplexed than anything. Then another set of invasive images the day after, apparently at a bar. All just Gloria and this mystery man with no recognizable face. 

Galarian news catches fire, promoting a poorly focused cellphone picture with this _kid_ embracing her. Kabu ignores it. She's not clear or visible in the image. Yet the title insinuates the embrace is following her acceptance of his recent proposal, or at least questions the possibility of it. Now there's talk of wedding bells and secret eloping. And he can't help but believe that it's all impetuous bullshit. Gloria looks miserable on her trip to Unova, but her manager's assistant is frequently updating her social media. It's all sightseeing and positive comments. Not clarification to the plethora of questions being thrown her way. Her manager is in several images, though few and far between. And he wonders why Leon's press material was far more positive at the start. If it was a gender concern of simply a new age of technology. 

Nessa wants to host an "informal Galarian Leader's Conference" to discuss "details pertaining to public relations". Essentially, Nessa wants to talk shit. He doesn't blame her. But no one wants to go, save Milo, until she offers to buy food. 

But Kabu doesn't. He sits in his office, eyeing the stadium from the elevated window view. He says he's feeling less than ideal. And Nessa understands, saying she misses him but will visit soon. He hangs up the phone, throwing out his arcanine for a stretch. 

The first thing the big orange brute does, out of the ball, is look for Gloria. Because it's Friday. And Gloria has, as of late, been there from morning until closing _every_ Friday. And the first thing she does is lavish his team in relentless attention and poke snacks. 

But he doesn't see Gloria. And the look he gives Kabu is one of confusion and speculation. His giant head cocks to the side, glossy eyes focused intently on the sour demeanor of his trainer behind his desk. He tells the oaf to lay down in front of the door, preventing unanticipated interruptions. Kabu leans back into his office chair, putting on his reading glasses and logging into the laptop that sat in sleep mode on the desk. He tells Arcanine that today's a normal work day, and he has paperwork pertaining to system updates to the leaderboards and stat displays, plus the sign off on the quality control assessment by the auditor from Wyndon. Then his trainers' monthly assessments are due. And then there's the formal request on some ridiculous endorsement from a place out of Kalos, decorated with the Chairman’s seal of importance in the email itself.

He supposes that he should do the latter first, and opens the attached document. 

**_Concerning The Acting Motostoke Gym Leader,_ **

**_As the primary delegate assigned to Galar, representative of the Region of Kalos, I would like to extend a formal invitation to you and your esteemed stadium. One to inherit the best and brightest that our most reputable elite team has to offer, under your acceptance and goodwill._ **

**_I have been recently made aware that the integration of varying cultures and battle methodologies is a strong, passionate priority for you and your team. Upon recommendation by your Chairman, I came to the idea that perhaps a more interpersonal representation is needed between our existing regions. Therefore, the idea stands that we would like to provide trainers from our very own Lumiose City in exchange for your own, if willing._ **

**_As a preliminary challenge between two cooperating regional representatives, one being as esteemed as yourself, there will be an increase in confidence towards public relations. With both involved cities and stadiums building rapport, we may eventually aim to branch our success into international affairs._ **

**_The plan rests in your opinion and preference. Over dinner in Motostoke rather recently, Galarian Champion Gloria specifically indicated your possible interest in diversity and expansion, as well as your individual patience and prestige. Her assessment of your devotion to Galar and the quality of your work and establishment have led me to believe that there is no other leader in your region quite as capable. The Chairman -_ **

Kabu closes the email and drags it into his 'deleted' folder. Because the Kalosian delegate is a "woman stalking sack of shit", and if it were truly a concern, the Chairman would be in front of him right now, weighing the pros and cons. 

But Gloria had said good things, and improved his image out of her own casual commentary. And it burns again...the thought of her reputation and the press.

He wants to sit in his office forever and brood. Or maybe he wants to lay into the punching bag in the workout room, or run for hours to strictly think about his breathing and the sting of the cold air. Because Galar’s Champion has stealthily infiltrated his way of life, and completely uprooted his composure. His thinking, as of late, is revolved around Gloria; her demeanor, her voice, and her body. So much that he now finds himself recalling how specifically and gingerly she unpacks takeout food, humming her thoughts as she interprets the illegible handwriting that labels each box. He considers how she impatiently searches his face for an answer to _any_ question, rather than simply wait for him to speak. How she's dedicated to a single tube of lipgloss, insistent that she'll see this one all the way through and not lose it. 

He thinks of these things for no reason other than he misses her. And that is _frustrating_. 

It isn’t fair, in any sense. He's spent his life training. He's built a routine out of it, enjoying the little things that pass through. Kabu has evaded attachment at every turn, confident that he didn't need it outside of his pokemon. It's a huge joke. That after most of his life, he finds this feeling _now_ . Not only does he find it halfway through his lifespan, but he finds it with someone unattainable in both age and status. An attractive person that he can't have. A woman who is so close, so frequent, and yet so fucking _far_. 

He gets nothing done for an hour. 

Instead, he scrolls through his social media feed, eyeing post after post about this Unovan kid and if she's engaged. Her newest post is dedicated to her most recent magazine cover out of Black City. Long white dress, laying in the curled extensions of a Chandelure, her legs entangled in the extremities. She hangs off the side, one arm holding on by the crook in her elbow. It's not a pose she should be in. Not as the Champion, not at nineteen, and not as Galar's most feared combatant. 

But it has twenty-six thousand likes. Disgusting comments that compliment her in the crudest ways follow beneath. Yet also a plethora from women her age, thanking her. There are people expressing their gratitude to her as living proof; that elegant, sexy and small trainers can make it as far as she did. He thinks maybe that's why she and Nessa do all the modeling. To feel gorgeous and dangerous and tell everyone else it's entirely possible, because it simply is. The image reaches up to thirty thousand likes in the moment he takes to look it over. And he thinks that his own would blend in among the masses. 

His eyes follow the comments until they delve into the topic of the mystery man yet again. If the white dress is her wedding dress. Why she isn't wearing a ring. If it's all a lie. 

He doesn't care. His thumb hovers over the grey heart in the corner, taping once to make it red. 

* * *

Leon is... _piecing things together_. From Gloria’s recent behavior, to the aggression of her toxtricity, then to the fact that nearly all of her most recent posts come out of Motostoke. He feels like maybe he should have invasive images attached to red strings on the wall of his apartment, halfway insane by the underlying insinuation of it all. 

And now he has to configure this Unovian kid into the long, tedious equation of _Gloria_ . The same kid who’s thrown Galar into social media _catastrophe_. Yet another factor to the mystery of the new Champion; someone he feels halfway responsible for due to his own ringing endorsement, as well as having spent a chunk of his childhood with her. 

It’s a slow process that he’s shared with Sonia, who’s also been thrown into a crisis over the whole affair. The redhead is not only distraught by the idea that Gloria never spoke about this mystery man, but also from the emotional detriment of her assistant, Hop, over the scandal. They were in the lab when it’d come up on his feed days ago. She says he was devastated; that he'd stared at his phone, motionless, for a concerning twenty minutes. When Gloria's face came on the tele, Hop shut it off and threw the remote against the wall. When they delivered the paper, he had calmly ripped it in half and left the pieces on the floor. 

And when his mother called? Saying Hop had come over and locked himself in his old bedroom? Leon knew he had to step in. 

“You’ve drifted off. I can see it,” she says. “What’s on your mind?” 

She'd been talking the whole time, but he'd failed to listen. 

"This whole thing. Gloria doesn't _know_ this guy. She's not one to just up and have some secret affair. She’s about to turn twenty and all of the sudden she's on the prowl?" He pulls up one of the most recent pictures, angling the phone to Sonia. "Look at her. She's at a bar she might not even be old enough to go in? She's on the town, not training? It’s out of character."

"I know. Hop knows. Maybe that's why it's throwing everyone for a loop," Sonia wonders aloud, setting a fingertip between her teeth in contemplation. 

Leon sighs, locking his phone and stuffing it into his pocket. "Someone has to know _something_."

"I asked Ness and Melony. Melony said Gloria goes to her for relationship advice." 

"What? Since when is that a thing?" Leon leans against the wall of her lobby, somewhat perturbed at the thought. Gloria asking Melony? A married woman with five kids? 

"That's what I said. Apparently she’s been visiting her for a couple weeks now. Melony doesn't know who or why, but she said it was serious. Like, _final destination_ , serious." 

" _Someone_ has to know."

"Marnie and Bede know, for sure. When I asked, they made eye contact and immediately tried to change the subject. Like kids caught stealing. But they wouldn't budge." 

"Figures." 

Sonia crosses one leg over the other, reaching from her seat on the couch to grab at her tea mug. "Maybe Kabu will know." 

His brow pinches and his scowl deepens. "Why would Kabu know anything?"

"She's been spending most of her free time with him lately. If you pay attention to her posts, more than half of them are posted out of Motostoke Stadium." 

"You don't find that odd?"

Sonia returns his face of confused disturbance, trying to figure out the issue. "Not at all. She said he's teaching her Hoenn."

Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, face scrunched in confusion. "That...doesn't make sense."

"Why wouldn't it?"

He pauses, questioning his own answer. "Because Gloria's fluent." 

Sonia stops mid-sip. The connotation is immediate. "How fluent?" 

"Her Dad lives there and her mom's half. That's how they met.” He takes his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. “She doesn't need lessons. She has full conversations with her mom all the time. She used to talk to her dad over video like once a week. I'd literally listen to them growing up." 

"She doesn't...she doesn't _look_ Hoenn." She's trying to find anything to disprove it. But Leon doesn't lie.

"Her mom's half Galarian. Her dad's Unovan. White as a ghost. His parents were stationed in Hoenn as military, I think." 

"So...she doesn't need lessons from Kabu. She's lying."

Leon starts pacing. Quick and firm enough that he'd easily start to wear a recess into the tile if he kept going. Sonia sets her tea down, leaning further into the couch of her office. She breathes deeply, fighting a sigh. 

Gloria...should have told her, she thinks. Gloria is her closest friend, save Leon and Hop. And yet the sinking feeling of insignificance plagues her. As though there was a reason Gloria never confided in her. She pushes it aside, blinking a few times as she considers what other factors they're missing. 

"It has to be something else. Maybe she's rusty because of all the dialects. She said she was going to visit her dad soon anyway." Leon's talking mostly to himself, now. He crosses his arms, returning his position on the wall as he justifies Gloria's actions. 

Gloria is one of his oldest friends. The implication that she'd be deceptive if only to try and sleep with his highly respected associate was… _uncomfortable_. Kabu is someone he considers family, equal to the sister he found in Gloria.

Leon didn't like the insinuation of it, much less the evidence. Because if Tox had been jealous all those weeks ago, then that means Gloria is bringing up Kabu to her pokemon on a daily basis. She added a sizzlipede to her primary team, despite her manager's advisory against it. Her modeling schedule is unusually booked. And now she's spending nearly all of her free time in Motostoke, feigning a lack of understanding for something he's certain she knows well. 

He grimaces, attention lost. It didn't feel right. Gloria doesn't do unsavory things for fun, or because she's told to. She gets nothing out of stringing others along, or manipulating people for her benefit. He's always guessed that she has a high emotional and interpersonal IQ, and is strongly empathetic. Because Gloria only does anything to improve herself, her life, and the lives of others. And it's been this way since she was small. 

"Are her parents divorced?" Sonia asks, because the family tree is admittedly all over the place. Hop had explained it to him on several occasions, and he still can't quite place it. But Sonia is coming from a place of empathy, more than anything. Because everyone _knows_ that Gloria doesn't have a Dad. But no one knows exactly _why_ , or where he _went_. 

"Never married. They each took a kid though." Leon knows that much. 

"What?" She frowns, sympathetic. 

"Yeah her brother used to live with their dad in Hoenn...until he moved...to Unova." Leon stops. He pulls his phone out again, unlocking it. He runs over the image a tenth time, fingers pulling at the screen to zoom in. His brows pinch together, and he sighs heavily. "Hop and I are complete idiots." 

He sets the phone down in the center of the coffee table, sliding it to Sonia, almost out of frustration with his own lack of attention. He wonders how he could have been so stupid. He sets a hand over his face, looking up to the ceiling and resting the back of his head against the wall. 

"Meet Gloria's twin brother, Victor. He's currently training to be a pokemon doctor in Unova." 

* * *

"You're spaced out more than normal," he says. 

Victor tosses the key card on the bed, stretching his arms above his head and walking towards the window. His beanie slides off in the movement, falling on the hotel room floor. He tosses his hoodie on the dresser and whistles at the view, overlooking Castelia City and the limitless skyscrapers. 

"Just...ready to get home," Gloria follows in, toppling into the made bed, casual in yoga pants and a long sleeve. She stares at the ceiling, fingers curling into the comforter. 

Victor takes a seat in the little loveseat by the window, crossing his ankles. "You just got here, Lo."

She scoffs, recalling how the last three days have felt like a lifetime. "Not fond of Unova. Not sure how you're schooling here."

"Better than Hoenn."

"Not _at all_." 

Victor scoffs in return, wrinkling his nose. "Now you're sounding like Dad."

She bolts up, expression rancid in his direction. He hates that face she makes. The one that she wears into personal battles. The one that looks so determined and challenging that she might kill on sight. 

"I don't sound _anything_ like Dad."

"Well you wouldn't know, would you," he chides. 

"And when's the last time you visited Mum?" She throws it back in his face. 

Victor pauses, eyes still lingering at the view through the window as he considers his retort. He bites his cheek and sniffs hard, feeling his pulse strain at the sudden rush of agitation. "Wish I never had."

She snaps, sitting fully up on the bed with crossed legs, fingers fisting into the fabrics like a death grip. He never knew when to stop. He never knew when to act like a bloody adult. A part of Gloria deeply hopes it bites him in the ass one day. That he sees how petty and ignorant he sounds every time he opens his mouth. 

"Shut the _fuck up_ , _Masaru_."

"It's Victor," he grits. "I don't go around calling you _Yuuri_."

"I wasn't raised in Hoenn, idiot."

"Here we fucking go." He throws his hands up, exasperated and spent. It's a conversation they've had a million times, whether it be yelling on the phone or physically hurting one another in person. He doesn't want to deal with it. Gloria's always ready for it, regardless. "Let's change the subject." 

"Fine," she says. 

Because they both know where it goes every time. And it's not the time or place. 

There's a minute of silence. They admit they both need to cool off. She's fuming on the bed, hunched over her phone to specifically ignore him. He won't admit he's missed her. His sister was always, somehow, more emotionally resilient. Yet she was also kinder, far more determined and powerful. He thinks she's also wittier, though he knows he's studied far more now than she ever will. Reardless, she's fucking miserable. And so is he. And he wonders if that'll ever change, and why they're not even happy together. That was supposed to be some telepathic twin thing that people love to romanticize. But they never felt it. They never will. 

"How's being Champion?" He finally asks after the tension is less. 

"You’ve asked me that a dozen times already."

He scoffs. “I’m hoping for a better answer than ‘terrible’, Lo.” 

“You won’t get one.” 

"Fine.” He sighs, loud, and tries again. “You and that neighbor kid going steady yet?"

She laughs dryly. "No."

He smiles. Poor Hop. "What, not interested?"

"Not at all. Hop’s my closest friend." She's not even looking up from her phone. 

"If that's the case, Justin thinks you're cute."

"Your mate Justin? The one you dorm with?"

She'd gone to see him in his dorm the day prior. And apart from the disgusting amount of unwashed dishes and his creepy roommate, she liked the space. Compact and simple. She misses her own apartment. She misses her bed. 

"You’re his screensaver," he laughs. 

He feels a slight success at the smirk that breaks her pissed composure. "That's bloody disgusting." 

"You're the one modeling."

"Not because I want to."

Sure. He doesn't believe it. He'd been embarrassed at the first evening gown he'd seen literally fucking everywhere. Galarian culture was becoming a trend in Unova, next to Johto. So her photo hit every newsstand and website. She'd been draped over the back of her drednaw, a dress that was partly transparent to mimic water draping over the shell. Her legs were clearly edited to add length. His father had nearly spit his drink. 

"You're saying none of those dresses are for some guy back home?" Because that's what it looked like with the type of fashion and the frequency. There was no way she did it of her own volition. 

"I thought they would be." She smiles, coming down off the anger. "Apparently not."

"So there _is_ a guy."

"One who's not interested." She spares him a look. He's turned in the chair, facing her more. 

"C'mon. You're the Champion. Dude would have to be like, the Chairman to not-"

"He's a gym leader," Gloria interrupts.

Victor pauses, rolling over the Galarian team in his head. It's an odd set, he admits. There's even a kid. But he knows which one is most likely. The most popular and stylish. The one who has the most avid social media presence. "That dragon trainer, huh? Seems like a womanizer."

Gloria cackles sarcastically and loud. "He's _definitely_ not. But no, not him."

Victor throws around the next likely candidate. "Not Leon?"

She bristles, almost offended. "No, god no."

Victor finally pulls out his phone, tapping quickly to pull up the listing of the Galarian gym leaders. His eyes scan over the photos, assessing each one by one. 

"I mean…Gordie? That a common name over there?" He squints. "You can do better."

"I barely know Gordie," she rolls her eyes. 

"Bede? He's prettier than you. That won't work well." 

Her brows pinch together and she scowls. Bede is _not prettier…well_ , maybe. "The Motostoke stadium, you idiot." 

Victor scrunches further into the chair, bringing his feet up so the heels of his sneakers rest on the edge. He scrolls down, eyeing the red gym logo. "...Gloria what?"

"Your double chin is showing," she mumbles. 

"According to the internet, which is never wrong, Kabu of Motostoke, originally from Hoenn, blah blah blah…...Gloria, he's older than _Dad._ " 

"Yeah. I'm aware."

Victor admits that _this_ was not what he anticipated to hear when she'd called saying she was on a plane to his city. But this...also makes sense. Because he grew up with their dad. And she grew up with their mom. But the family united on holidays maybe three times a year. And that had to leave some kind of odd, Freudian deprivation, right? Was this justifying odd behavior? Or was it an excuse that he'd like to use? Or was the excuse itself still justification? 

But he can't make up his mind. And the only thing Victor can think is that it's an oddity, if nothing else. "Lo, that's fucking weird."

Gloria won't tolerate it, because she's never tolerated _him._ "Don't pretend you don't have mommy issues, Vic. I've seen your computer history once or twice." 

He goes red, skin hot from embarrassment and frustration. "I'm not flaunting it around. I'm not publicly toting around a 48 year old woman. I'm not the fucking _Champion_ of my _region,_ Lo." 

She takes a few seconds to respond. 

"I said he wasn't interested." 

And now Victor feels terrible. Because she's not angry. And she's not fighting him on it like she would any other topic. And for once, he looks at his sister, and actually sees a genuine emotion. One that wasn't hidden behind a false pleasantry that she cooks up for the sake of social norms. She looks disappointed, but mostly...sad. He wonders if that's what he looked like when he was old enough to realize his mother hadn't wanted him. And that makes him think maybe Gloria looked just like _this_ when she pieced together that her father didn't want to waste time on a daughter. 

This guy...this old man she's after...is making her _feel things._ And not in the sense of giddy romance or love, but just... _something._ Because Victor and Gloria have never felt anything that was unique or exquisite. They've both come incredibly far, decimating their peers and competition, if only to feel something outside of the same mundane, repetitive emotions that were stagnant and underwhelming. Their success is driven by their desire to feel as human as everyone else looks. To feel something genuine with people, not just pokemon. To feel anything outside of the anger and agitation that they cause one another. 

"He has you good, huh?" Victor chuckles. He's jealous. He wants what she's found. 

She smiles. A real one. One he hasn't seen for a long time, if ever. "Yeah. He's the real deal."

He hates her. He fucking _hates_ her. 

"Then make it work, I guess." But...not really. He can't _actually_ hate her. Not for _this_. "Not all of us find the real deal." 

"You don't listen." That smile is gone. "He doesn't want me. Or...maybe he does and it's just the age gap? I'm not completely sure." 

"You're fucking dense, Lo. Of course he's interested. Probably _because_ of the age gap. You know how often Dad was bringing around college girls?"

She lays back into the bed, throwing herself into the pillows. "Vic, _please_ shut up. Don't be a nob."

"You make the first move, guarantee he breaks."

She scowls at the ceiling again. He can see the wheels turning in her head. Like she's wondering what the ramifications would be if she _did_ make the first move. 

She bites into her cheek, fingers running through her hair. "Kabu's better than that. And I don't need sex advice from _you_. It's bloody _weird_."

"As the oldest-"

"-By twelve seconds."

"-I'm obligated to share my wisdom."

She sighs. "Then stop talking." 

"Gloria," he says. 

" _What_?" She sighs again. 

"You've never been happy. Mom used to tell Dad over the phone." He mumbles most of it, focus out the window, vividly remembering the phone calls. 

"I'm very happy." She lies, partly.

He laughs at her, like it was a huge joke. "I don't think I've _ever_ seen you happy. Even when we were little." 

"I'm happy, Vic. You're the one who was never happy."

"Yeah. Neither of us ever were." His tongue runs over his teeth. "We were weird fucking kids."

She smiles again. "Still are." 

"You wear it better." He smiles back. 

"You ever see people...just content, Victor?" She pauses. He doesn't respond. And his vision is back at the window. There's a flock of bird-types over one of the buildings in the distance. His eyes follow them. "Everyone, all the time, genuinely happy over the smallest things. Like everything inside them just feels okay, even for a minute." 

"Yeah. I see it." He answers like he's suddenly agitated. Like a grown adult being pestered by the mindless talk of a child. "I want it."

She scowls. "When I'm with Kabu...that's how I feel." 

Victor stands from the chair, stretching. "Maybe I need to meet this guy. According to the internet he's a dreamboat."

Gloria laughs, glancing briefly at her phone. "You're awful." 

She taps to open a text from her manager's assistant. A screenshot of her Pokegram notifications is included. Because she's not even allowed access to her own social media. Because her manager thinks she can't be trusted. 

She can't even stop the grotesque rumors about Victor being some undisclosed, secret fiancé. The ones that are _everywhere_. 

She reads the notifications. 

_6 mutual friends liked your post. HammerlockeHan_Official, MiloGreen_Official, NessaNaw_Official, MarYells_Official, MotostokeSt_Official, BallonleaBede_Official._

**_MotostokeSt_Official_ **

That genuine smile breaks her again. The one Victor kind of hates. The one that's real enough to make him think maybe this Kabu guy isn't too terribly old. "He liked today's shoot."

Victor snorts. "Like he _liked_ it?"

"He _like_ liked it," she gloats. 

"Wait 'til Dad finds out about this."

"Don't you _fucking dare_."

* * *

End Chapter Seven.


	8. Ginger Ale

She thinks about what Victor said; about making the first move. It’s all she thinks of on the plane home. It’s all she throws back and forth between her hesitant sensibility and her unhinged impertinence for fourteen hours, flying. She’s squeezes the life out of her alcremie, who is agitated beyond belief at the unintended asphyxiation. She blips little noises of grief and shoves against Gloria until the trainer relents and allows her to stumble into the aisleway. 

Gloria wonders _how_ she's going to make the first move. If making the first move was smart at all. Or if making the first move would completely decimate the already fragile relationship they’re balancing. She shuts the little plane window cover a bit too harshly, eyeing her dynamax bracelet in the process. She bites hard into her cheek. He’d returned it to her the day after her dinner with the delegate from Kalos. And Kabu had been so damn awkward about it. Rather...more stoic and obscure than awkward. As if he didn’t want to touch her, much less look at her. 

She glances to the little recess designated for her drink, eyeing the sizzlipede curled up in a ball at the bottom of it, sleeping. Alcremie is waddling through the aisle, touching _everything_. Tox is out cold in the bathroom, because he can. She allowed the odd behavior with only one other person sharing her trip in first class. The bug stirs in his sleep, mandibles clicking in reaction to a dream. 

She remembers a dream she’d had in the hotel. One where he took her hiking out at the cliffs of Bridge Field. It transitioned somewhere in the middle to a walk in Wyndon Park, oddly. Not Motostoke. Then to a normal conversation in Nessa’s gym, where she’s actually seen him only once or twice. It struck her peculiar, at how events so uncomplicated and simple had her waking up in such a good mood. She won’t dwell on the provocative dreams, despite waking up with an even better disposition after those. 

But Gloria supposes that, hypothetically, if she _were_ to make the first move, it would have to be bold. Because Kabu is _not_ a mild person, by _any_ means. And she is not a subtle one. 

Melony says body language is key. Victor said sex is the drive for _all_ men of a certain age. Marnie is _certain_ he reciprocates her sentiments. And Bede says she’s gross and will probably die alone. 

She thinks too hard on the last one. On how Bede is, oddly, one of her closest friends.

So she could storm in and kiss him. Make it as simple and as demanding as an abrupt announcement of her intentions. Or she could be recklessly bold. Find him alone, standing, then drop on her knees and physically express her intentions. But...that would probably throw him into a panic. And the last thing she needed was for him to accidentally kick her in the face out of a natural reaction because of how unexpected it would be. Especially if he wasn’t interested. 

That one would be _too_ much body language, she thinks. 

She could bring him dinner. Her flight lands around 2:00pm. That’s plenty of time to grab and go. 

She can start there. They can eat together, like usual. Then she can gradually move into how she’d missed him. Maybe find a close place against him on the couch. She’ll discuss how she’s felt as of recently. Get into the details of her psychological issues. Let it pour out like word vomit before she quickly loses all self-restraint and self-respect. She’ll say she thinks about him often, bordering obsession. Then abruptly move into how she’s madly in love with him. How, for the first time in her life, it feels like she’s not a complete sociopath because an older man is paying attention to her. 

Gloria holds her head in her hands, concealing her face in her fingers. She wants to scream. But that’s not socially acceptable on planes, or in public. 

She hasn’t done a single thing yet, and she’s already ferociously humiliated, strictly from her own disloyal imagination. Her own theoretical conversation sounded like a  _ psychopathic disaster _ . And that was in  _ her  _ head,  _ by herself _ . Gloria groans, inhaling deeply through her hands. 

She’s uncertain of herself, and that’s a terrifyingly  _ new  _ feeling. Yet she’s terribly confident that he sees her as he does Milo and Nessa; child-like family. But she  _ has  _ to tell him. She dramatically speculates that this feeling will last forever without some kind of outlet or confession. That she couldn’t rest well without at least saying it aloud.

And...she considers, briefly...that maybe there’s the most infinitesimal chance that he _won’t_ reject her. 

Maybe she can start by just...bringing him dinner? 

But that’s only step one. And it’s what she does _all_ the time. And then they’ll slowly meld back into the off and on game of cat and mouse, which she’s _losing_ . And she’s the fucking _cat_. 

She bites so firmly into her cheek that she tastes iron. Her chest hurts as it has for weeks. For the first time since possibly the age of seven, her body aches and she’s tediously nervous. Her match with Leon hadn’t been this strenuous. The anxiety that had wracked her body during their battle was thrilling, not terrifying. She felt alive in the moment. Her decision to leave home hadn’t crippled her this badly, either. It was motivating, alluring. And her father refusing to acknowledge her potential hadn’t done this much emotional detriment. It felt like _nothing._ Nothing in every sense of the word. 

Reality strikes her as abruptly as the flight attendant’s greeting, who is kind to offer a complimentary ginger ale seemingly out of nowhere. 

She realizes that Kabu doesn’t love her. That she’s steering herself into yet another experience of disenchantment and regret. Her hesitation is pathetic and self-pitying, she thinks. Because she wants this, and nothing has ever motivated her as emotionally or as resiliently as Kabu. 

Gloria almost laughs. Nothing has ever been so important. Nothing comes close to this patient, striking old guy. One who is limitless in prowess and tenacity - physically and mentally. The gym leader who jogs awkwardly to ensure that his centiskorch can keep up and prep for abrupt turns. Galar’s most intensely passionate combatant, relentless yet obstinately courteous. A gentleman who insists on leaving a 30% tip every damn time, because _‘We don’t know if they’re understaffed, Gloria. You’ve never delivered food, have you?’_. 

She wants him. Regardless of her hesitation, she's made up her mind. Gloria will do everything in her very limited power to ensure he falls naturally in love with her. Just as she'd done everything in her power to defeat Hop and Leon. Similarly to her defeating Rose and Oleana. Comparable to her taming of the legendary pokemon, who both she and Hop had agreed to let go.

She takes the ginger ale firmly. _First move be damned._

The soda is cold, and the bubbles rise swiftly around the ice. Gloria smiles to thank the woman, who stares at her oddly before nodding and hustling away. 

Her sizzlipede makes the slow, tingly journey from the cup holder into her lap. It’s eyes are heavy and lethargic when it looks at her. It curls back up, radiating a comfortable temperature against her legs. Gloria blinks, listening to the sudden hiss of vaporizing liquid on her pokemon’s exoskeleton. She looks down and sees the last of a speck of water bubbling into nothing. It’s likely that the condensation of her glass had dribbled, but the napkin stuck to the base is soaked preventatively. She hears another droplet sizzle, the crackling just as brief as the first. 

Gloria touches her face, and realizes she's crying. 

* * *

End Chapter Eight.


	9. Business

Leon finds himself obligated to speak with Kabu. As though his concerns with Gloria had reached a boiling point, enough to convince him that his intervention was needed. His walk into the fire gym is familiar and typical, save the peculiar lack of staff for a Monday morning. The redhead at the front desk greets him with a smile, mentioning that the gym leader is preoccupied with stadium upgrades and is therefore unavailable. Leon realizes that most  _ everything  _ becomes unavailable when you lose the Champion title, but she sympathizes, and mentions that he was last in the sound room. Since then he'd been back and forth with an electrician, scheduling for supposedly necessary modifications.

So Leon searches, and finds him on the field as always, discussing overhead lighting with a contractor. Something to tone out the severity of the red, he hopes. 

But Kabu is clearly in less than a good mood, considering they stand there without pokemon. His body language is tense, back straight and jaw clenched, hands gripping into the towel around his neck. His expression is achingly flat, without variation or contentment. A part of him thinks that this is a discussion for another day, if at all. Kabu is rarely irritable, and Leon has never experienced this particular disposition from him before. His entire reputation is constructed on his patience, consideration and ambition. Not a temper. 

But he seems fine enough when he greets him, offering the slightest of nods. It seems that no one is ever shocked to see him anymore; no one is ever unwelcoming, either. So Leon settles several feet away from his associate, setting his hands on his hips as he greets the contractor with a confident nod. She hardly notices him beyond her assessment of the field’s upper level equipment. 

"Upgrades?" Leon asks. He doesn't miss those days. Whole chunks of his young life spent designing and redesigning a big empty space that people never noticed. 

Kabu offers a brief smile that lasts barely a second. "Constantly, it seems." 

And now Leon draws a blank. Because there was no inconspicuous way to steer any of their usual subjects to Gloria. At least not in the immediate moment. And, as many times as he had replayed the conversation in his head on his taxi there, Lee doesn't know exactly what his questions are, or what he intends to say. He's grateful that the contractor is running lighting concepts by the gym leader, her hands gesturing in strides across the ceiling and drawing Kabu's attention. It gives him time to think. 

Would Gloria be upset with him? Is this any of his concern? Does she understand what she’s doing? Has she even considered the repercussions? What if she offends Kabu, or ruins their seemingly accomplished and professional relationship? Worse, she could trigger the media. Ruin them both.

He runs the questions through his head several times over, a coil of anxiety building beneath his ribs like a possession. He panics, briefly, before the electrician starts writing out dimensions on her clipboard, and her discussion with the gym leader ends abruptly as she jots down numbers. 

Leon clears his throat, waiting for the older's undivided attention away from the fixtures overhead. He's never granted it. It worsens his nerves. So he vomits nonsense, somehow straight to the point. "Have you heard from Gloria?"

Kabu squints, side-eyeing Leon with an obvious suspicion. It was an odd question to ask. Gloria hadn't even been the topic of conversation. They had barely even  _ started _ a conversation. 

"No."

"Oh." Leon scratches beneath the snap of his cap and shrugs. "I thought you might've."

This was odd. Kabu finds the entire 20 second interaction unnerving. As though Leon knew something that he genuinely didn't, specifically attempting to steer the discussion into an intended direction. One that pointed specifically at Gloria. Gloria, who had yet to come back to Galar, and had relentlessly plagued him for the last three weeks. The one individual he had no desire to currently discuss, and the reason for his uninterrupted spree of work and physical distraction. Or...maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe his own internalized frustrations revolving around her had made him jumpy. She’s a popular topic. She’s the goddamn Champion. She's one of Leon's oldest friends. 

He tells himself it's not suspect for Leon to abruptly discuss her. The same way he tells himself he's not pining for Gloria to be in his bed. 

"I'm sure you've seen her posts." Kabu sighs and crosses his arms, eyes running across the lights. "She's clearly preoccupied."

Leon laughs, genuinely. "Funny thing going around. Everyone's so certain she's having an affair with some Unovan."

The electrician briefly glances up, a smile curling across her face at the mention. Her pen stops its scribbling, and she clicks her tongue before throwing in her two cents. "That's what everyone hopes. They look good together.” 

It doesn’t take brilliance to see Kabu’s immediate upheaval, as Leon thinks himself far less than brilliant. But the tension in the other’s shoulders is obvious, and the clench of his jaw is comparable to when he’s losing a battle. Like watching a flame flicker to life, immediate and sharp. Kabu clears his throat, and she blinks briefly, assuming she’d wasted his time, and quickly goes back to her illustration of the lights. 

Leon waves a hand at the speculation; a piss-poor attempt to soften the blow and lighten the mood. "I'm sure it's the first thing she'll resolve when she gets back."

"Resolve?" Kabu raises a brow, arms still crossed, expression still firm. 

"As handsome as he is, Victor’s still her brother,” Leon laughs again, carefree in the admission. Victor's a good looking kid, as much as Gloria is pretty. Considering they look identical…he supposes.

He gets an actual reaction out of the gym leader's insistent stoicism this time. Kabu looks at him so quickly that Leon could joke about feeling whiplash. And the older seems far more interested, though still relatively impassive. He has his attention. And that's... _ interesting _ . Because Leon's not here to  _ confront  _ Kabu. He's here to  _ inform  _ him. Before he'd wondered how, but now, he instead asks himself if he even  _ should _ . If it's even his  _ damn business _ . If this is his own way of protecting the people he loves from making stupid, awkward mistakes or if it just sums up to his inability to mind his own shit. 

"That was Victor?" Kabu asks it, almost more to himself. Gloria had mentioned Victor on several occasions, but never that he lived in Unova. His attention wanders from Leon, to the ground, to the farthest wall of the arena, entirely unfocused. It's unusual for him. 

"Yeah." Leon laughs the reaction off. This isn't what he anticipated. "Took me a bit of thinking to recognize him." 

Kabu doesn't say anything. He looks back up at the lighting before eyeing the contractor. The woman makes another brief note on a diagram of the ceiling, tapping her pen at the estimated price. Then she says she'll have to bring her magnemite tomorrow, test out where the wiring runs exactly to see if they can split the lighting within the building code. She'll need a ladder and two hours. Kabu agrees and says he'll decide on an angle by then. 

They walk back into the tunnel, the contractor wishing them a good day and leaving entirely. And now, somehow, Leon was even more nervous than before. And it ran into his arms, and through his chest, and up his neck like a disease. It was the same kind of panic he’d felt when Gloria had honed in on his Charizard. The same kind of anxiety he’d had when experiencing his first competitive loss. 

Kabu clears his throat, leaning against the wall of the tunnel. "What  _ exactly  _ did you want to talk about, Leon?" 

He knows. Of course he does. Leon would be stupid to think otherwise. He’s not verbally crafty or underhanded. He wears the truth on his face as much as he wears his heart on his sleeve. But he’s not trying to cause issues, or create drama, or cause pain. It’s as simple as letting Kabu know that Gloria has a crush on him. And that he needs to desist in these weekly meetings, if only to prevent her from continuing to try and pursue him. Because Kabu is a man of honor, if nothing else, and the last thing Leon would want to see is brutally false accusations from the media. As though Kabu were lusting after Gloria. As though he wanted her or reciprocated her pining, when he clearly would never. 

Lee sighs, incessantly scratching the back of his neck. "Sonia mentioned...the other day...that you were teaching Gloria Hoenn."

"I am," he says. And the look he’s giving him is...petrifying. As if Kabu was precariously territorial or protective. As though Leon were infringing upon a topic that Kabu dared him to dig up, prepared for the possibly violent aftermath. It’s a sharp, narrowed expression that digs into his insecurities. Some new-found self-doubt that only developed when Gloria had kicked in his pride and dethroned him. 

"So, that's why she's here so often," he chuckles, trying to play it as a simple mention. As though it's a passing conversation. 

But it isn’t. And Kabu is again, less than amused. “It is.” 

"Honestly, Kabu, I’ve been considering this for a while.” He rubs his hands down his face, inhaling deeply, terrified. He doesn’t know what of. “I think you should know. She's not exactly-...Gloria really doesn't need-...She's-"

"She's fluent,” he interrupts. 

Leon chokes, a sudden fist to his mouth as he coughs. His brows pinch, eyes alit with unfiltered confusion and concern. His nose scrunches briefly, before he swallows and finds his words. Because Kabu isn’t saying anything else. He’s letting it fester, apparently. Or, perhaps, as always, he has nothing more to say. 

"How-” Leon rubs a tense hand against his forehead and then pinches at the bridge of his nose. “How did you find out?"

Kabu unfolds his arms, pushing himself off the wall and standing firm. He sets a curled knuckle against his mouth and shoves his other hand in the pocket of his sweats. "I've always suspected."

"Then-...why?"

Because really, that’s the only question left. Kabu knows the details. He’s known all along. Gloria is playing the ignorant card to get closer to him. Gloria’s a terrible liar. She always has been. She wears every emotion on her face, and everyone can see through the falsities and constructs and facades like glass. So why would it have been different now? 

But why hasn’t he confronted her? Why has Kabu not reprimanded her for wasting time? He has every right. He has more experience. More tenure. More occupation and agency in comparison to her few months of success. 

The older inhales, deep. Like the stadium itself couldn’t hold enough air to accommodate the exhaustion of his sigh. He thinks about it, eyes scanning the distance out to the arena. Leon can’t see the process, though. Unlike himself and Gloria, Kabu doesn’t express anything outside of what he intends to. He rarely wears his emotions without his own self-aware consent. He’s disciplined that way, Lee thinks. Controlled, like how fire burns so evidently yet no one knows how strongly or how fast. It’s of the fire’s own volition and intent. 

Kabu smiles, though, after a minute of silence. A look that’s relieving and gentle. It reaches his eyes softly, pronouncing his laugh lines. Like he was getting lost in a memory. As if he was as lost as Gloria tends to be, in the little pieces of things she remembers fondly. He huffs a laugh, crossing his arms again. "She's...fun." 

**_Fun_ ** . Leon could choke. Because Gloria...isn’t  _ actually  _ fun. Gloria is serious, and driven, and floaty, and kind, and light. She’s bubbly to Milo, Nessa, Marnie and Bede. They also think she can be fun. But she’s not... _ truly  _ fun, he thinks. Not in the deep, real way that he and Hop know her. Not in the countless days she’s spent with them, in serious conversations and situations. But she’s been spending so much time with Kabu. Days upon days upon days, according to Sonia and Melody. Enough time for Kabu to finally realize that she’s not  _ really  _ fun. She’s underlyingly plagued by boredom. 

But maybe Gloria’s fun...with Kabu? Maybe Kabu  _ makes  _ her fun. Maybe she’s simply fun in his perspective. Or maybe she’s driven to be fun because she likes him. Either way, Kabu’s still smiling at the distance across the stadium, lost to the thought of her. 

It stuns the younger. Leon just...doesn’t know. So the former champion laughs, because that’s what he does when he just  _ doesn’t know _ . "And here I was, worried." 

Leon is, admittedly, a clueless man. He is by nature, and always has been. His read on a room is poor, and his sense of direction, both in location and conversation, is even worse. But he knows that look on Kabu’s face. Specifically that fondness that's worn so evidently, like a morose disease. Something that cannot be counterift or fabricated. 

It’s the type of glittering softness Hop wears when he talks so avidly of Gloria. The same expression of withdrawn desire Oleana wore on the rare occasions she'd discuss Rose. He'd seen it years ago on his father at the dinner table, recalling his mother's wedding dress. He's seen it over late night drinks and park benches between couples in Wyndon. He's seen it on Opal, when she speaks fondly of her late husband. 

Kabu's in love with Gloria. Leon at least knows that. 

The idea pulls on his chest sharply like regret. Because this won't end well, he thinks. This won't turn out normal or understandable. He doesn't know Gloria's intentions or her expectations. He doesn't even know if she’s being genuine, or simply promiscuous. Or if it stems from the abandonment of her father, or something else entirely. He feels guilty for even delving so deep into her relations to begin with. For doubting her, or making assumptions. He feels god awful…because  _ Hop _ . Is this real competition for his baby brother, or just a passing phase? 

But Gloria doesn't use people. He's had this argument with himself before. Gloria looks for tangible, real things. She doesn't toy around or waste her time. She earns what she wants. It makes him wonder if they’re actually together. If this is an actual affair, and a cover up. If they actually found what everyone seems to be looking for in one another. 

“Have you told her?” Leon asks. Sudden somber, suddenly serious. Has he confessed? That he loves her? That he reciprocates? 

Kabu snaps his attention back to reality. For the first time that day, he meets his eyeline.

“No," he scoffs. "She needs the practice. Fluent or not, she can barely write it. And her accent needs work.” 

Leon's lost. As always. "What...do you mean?" 

"She told me she couldn't speak a word of it. Probably out of embarrassment about her accent. I don't blame her for wanting to start from scratch," he says. There's a thin smile outlining his tone with a light humor. 

He’s still talking about language. Which means he doesn’t know Gloria reciprocates. Kabu has no idea what she’s trying to do. Or why. Or how. They're not a thing. They're not together. 

Kabu is as fucking cluless as Leon. If not, more so. 

Leon laughs, hard. They keep up the conversation, suddenly more keen on roasting Gloria and her botched second language. Kabu mentions that Gloria returns tomorrow, and that her birthday is in a week. Things Hops knows also, and has planned on specifically. 

This truly isn’t Leon's business. It never was. 

It's not even his business when they return to the lobby, both men stunned to find Gloria seated patiently on one of the couches, clad in a classic red Motostoke jersey and shorts. 

Her eyes find Kabu's immediately, and she smiles. 

* * *

End Chapter Nine.


	10. An Invitation

Bede doesn't know what the hell she's thinking. He never does. Gloria, in his well-endowed and savory opinion, was being a dramatic bitch. And rather, was completely out of her league, as well as her goddamn mind. But she's insistent, this time. As though an epiphany had struck her into action, forcing her hand to act rashly. Sink or swim. Do or die. Similarly to how Bede had acted upon discovering the potential of fairy-types; she's driven. More so than he had ever seen her in their time as rivals and...dare he admit, friends. 

She's seated at a vanity in front of a mirror. He's running a brush through her hair while she fiddles with a tube of mascara. Bede had hauled ass to her apartment, having been told that an emergency required his expertise. That she needed him more than she ever had before, right off her plane from Unova. He would be the difference between life and death. A world-changing event. The fate of Galar was on the balance, dependent upon his immediate and hastened arrival. 

The emergency was her unparalleled obsession with Kabu. And the expertise was his skill with hair and fashion. She needed help preparing for an unplanned seduction attempt, specifically one that Kabu himself did not know about. And Bede had never wanted to strangle her more than he did now, inclusive of their time competing for the Champion spot. 

"This won't work," he scoffs. Because it won't. And she's an idiot. 

"It will," she says. So confident. So prideful. 

"Sure." He sets down the brush and picks up a warmed curling iron instead. "Because he's _so_ interested _now_." 

She crunches her nose, wincing at the close proximity of the curling iron as he adjusts his angle on her head. She has a nice casual dress hanging off her closet handle and a pair of matching heels by the door. Leggings are hang-drying after a quick scrub in the sink. The umbrella in the front room is ready for the day's rain. Her intended outfit is perfectly constructed and prepared. She just needs the volume to her hair and the bits of makeup to accentuate her finest traits. 

"This isn't like winning a battle, Gloria." Bede rolls his eyes, then rolls a loch of her hair. "You can't just make him fall in love with you."

"Well, I’m going to try," she defends. 

That throws him off guard. Gloria is a bleeding heart little goody two shoes, always considerate of others and their well-being. She's not manipulative, nor is she conniving, but she's determined for this to work. Insistent. Meaning she doesn't just have the hots for the old man, but rather she genuinely likes him. 

Gloria had told Bede and Marnie about her interest months prior. That she'd intended to get close enough to Kabu to see if it was worth something to try and seduce him. Specifically because she'd had no desire to sexually pursue anyone before meeting Kabu. Gloria admitted that she'd actually had no desire to sexually pursue the gym leader _himself_ until after their first outing at a café. Bede found that peculiar. That her sexuality stemmed from a single, ambiguously inexact interaction that may or may not have meant anything at all. She said she had a crush on the self-proclaimed old man. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't think it was taboo, yet also perplexing. 

Bede's initial frustration with Gloria was primarily due to his own desire to be the best. But it also heavily stemmed from her obvious inability to express genuine emotion. They both had that very odd similarity, just processed and expressed very differently. However, Opal had helped him. Fixed him, he thinks. Whereas, even after her victory, Gloria still came off as unfeeling. She'd had a drive to succeed before then, but it was for one victory, and nothing else. 

Hop had mentioned that it was just her normal state of being. That she had difficulties feeling too excited or too involved. That her journey to be Champion was mostly just to feel _anything_. And Bede could confirm this once their friendship had solidified. Gloria hardly felt anything deep. As though emotion couldn't break the surface of her character, and instead just floated on her face vaguely like an excuse. Even after she became Champion, there was little that could allow her indefinite contentment. 

So it was surprising when she smiled so genuinely about the fire gym leader. When she showed her teeth in a grin, telling Marine about his kindness at the café and how helpful his advice had been. Bede had been ready to throw out a snide comment about maybe asking him out for a drink. Something sarcastic and brittle because...c’mon...this was _Kabu_ . Sensible, respected, patient, fiery, tenured _Kabu_ . But Gloria beat him to it, as always. And he remembers the very real, very distinct confusion of Marine's face when Gloria had spouted _'I like him. I think I'll try to sleep with him. Maybe that would get me somewhere'_. 

He imagines that she'd once said something similar years prior. Probably along the lines of _'I like battling pokemon. I think I'll try to become Galar's Champion. Maybe that would get me somewhere'_. 

So it was all a big joke, initially. A shitty one neither he nor Marie were laughing at. They didn't take it seriously. Not until Gloria was with him almost every day, grinning and laughing obscurely like an idiot. No one relevant asked questions. She'd had a PSA out that she was incorporating a sizzlipede to her primary team. So it halfway made sense that she'd see Kabu for training. And then she started ditching her manager, avoiding press talks, only showing up for photoshoots. She started wearing refined clothing; heels, loafers, blazers and dresses. And she did it with a smile, entirely passive about the whole thing. She was actually... _expressive_. 

"Fine." He finishes a curl of hair, letting it fall. "If that's the case, you're going about this all wrong."

"What?" She eyes him through the mirror, eyes searching him for an answer almost as soon as he spoke. Bede rolls his eyes and sighs heavily, running a dramatic hand through his hair. Acting as though he were being pestered by an annoying child. 

"You don't want to **_over_ ** dress,” he says coyly. “You want to **_un_ **dress."

She narrows her eyes, partially suspicious, partially keen to the idea. "What do you mean?"

"We'll have to go shopping. Unless...do you have a Motostoke jersey lying around?"

"I…” Gloria visibly swallows. “I do."

Bede almost winces. That’s embarrassing, but unsurprising. "What size?"

"Medium."

"What size is Kabu?" He hums, releasing another curl of her hair from the iron. "With the muscle build, a large, probably."

He curls up a third loch before she tilts her head, perplexed. "I'm lost." 

"We need an extra large, probably. The large won’t be as long," he speaks more to himself. 

"Melony has one. It's an actual certified replica, though.” Bede throws her a look in the mirror, one that specifically asks how the hell she knows that. “It was supposed to be a gift for Gordie years ago, but then he became a gym leader himself. She asked me a while ago if I wanted it. Brand new. Something about sacrilege for there to be anything red in the house." 

"That works, I guess. I'll ask her to bring it," Bede huffs. He pulls out his phone in one hand and continues curling with the other. Gloria watches the process with a concerned eye as he sends out a text, multitasking. 

"I'm still lost," she pouts. 

Bede sighs again and shakes his head, pocketing his phone after a vibration indicated that Melony had responded. It almost seemed agonizing for him to provide Gloria his full attention. 

"Men like Kabu want pretty dresses and refined accessories, sure. But you wear similar things all the time. What he'd like even more is an implication," the blonde smirks mischievously. "He's built by pride, Glo. Wear one of his jersey replicas, logos and all. It needs to be oversized, like it’s his. Have some shorts underneath. Get a bedroom look going. It's a taunt, but mostly an invitation to see you like that later." 

Gloria’s lips purse, and Bede lets go of another curl from the iron. He smiles. She’s caught on. 

She almost laughs. "It's as close as I'll get to actually wearing his personal jersey...and _nothing else_."

"Pft. I'm surprised you put that together all by yourself,” he scoffs the insult, but she only smiles back in the mirror. “Melony says she’s on her way. Pretty sure she’s picked up what’s going on.” 

“Thank you Bee,” Gloria has a full grin plastered on her face. Bede finds himself choking briefly on his own breath. Gloria is...cute. Never his type, not in this lifetime or ever, but regardless, innocently adorable like this. And it was...rewarding...to see her so happy. To see one of his closest friends so eager and grateful to him for only his time. 

Melony drops the jersey off, a sly look on her face. And Gloria does a ridiculous twirl once her ensemble is complete. The Jersey is long on her. The hem of her spandex shorts is barely visible, but enough to keep the paparazzi from using those lovingly derogatory terms. And it’s black spandex on red nylon, drawing attention that they are indeed _there_ ...just... _barely_. She goes to grab her umbrella when Bede scolds her about thinking ahead. If it rains, and she’s with Kabu, then only good things will happen.

“And if it rains and I’m not with him?” 

“You have an arcanine. Suck it up.” 

She hugs him, thrilled.

* * *

It was slow for a Monday, she thinks. Motostoke is nowhere near as bustling as usual; it’s heavily overcast and the air smells like rain. Even the café lacked a line of any loitering customers. Any attention she may have previously received by the few wandering residents was questioned due to her outfit and curled hair. She supposes she looks like a gym trainer, or perhaps an over-eager Kabu fan - reminding herself that she technically _is_ an _over-eager Kabu fan_. 

But regardless, the lack of eyes and comments was nice. And she reveled in it during her brief walk from Dwight’s to the stadium, a coffee in one hand, tea in the other. The front desk tells her he’s busy, and she can wait in the lobby if she’d like. That Former Champion Leon went to meet with him. She’s disappointed, but not deterred. 

So she leaves the two drinks with the front desk, walks back to Dwight’s to get a second coffee for Leon, and returns to wait. She sits on the couch and releases her sizzlipede as a distraction. He curls around the back of her neck, agitated by the cold humidity in the air. It mumbles bothered noises in her ear before resting beneath her hair, tiny legs gripping at the collar of the jersey. She crosses one leg over the other, hands patiently in her lap, leaned into the back of the couch comfortably. A woman with a clipboard walks in from the locker room then out the door, briefly catching her attention. 

It starts to rain. She watches the droplets scatter across the surface of each window. Her bug’s eyes seem to maliciously follow each one. He hisses at the onslaught of water outside before closing his eyes and burying his face into her collar bone. 

She laughs and hums lightly to put him to sleep. 

And finally Kabu walks in, beside the former champion. She makes immediate eye contact and smiles. She watches him assess her person from a distance. He’s in dark sweats and his casual trainer shirt, logo free for once. His hair's the same. Nothing new, save the slight exhaustion he wears. His eyes rake over her styled hair before watching her stand, clad in his own apparel. He doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t hold her eye contact. Then he looks everywhere but at her, attention back to Leon. 

It suddenly occurs to her that she hadn’t seen him in over three weeks. She didn’t call or text. Then it brutally hits her that she’d left without resolving their previous dilemma. The one where he wouldn't even look at her. The reason why she didn’t try to communicate with him in the first place; to give him space. And suddenly her confidence wavers, if only slightly. 

“Kabu, Leon!” She makes certain to mention him first. If only to gain his attention. She brings each of them their drinks, steam still running coils from the lids. They thank her, both somewhat taken aback by her presence alone. 

“Gloria? I thought you’d be back tomorrow!” Leon smiles warmly, embracing her solidly. He sets his hands on her shoulders when he steps back, as though a mother checking on her well being. And then...he notices her attire. His face sours immediately, as though he were scolding her. His brows pinch, mouth downturned, nose beginning to scrunch. Leon’s not completely oblivious, she supposes.

Gloria watches his eyes run across her entire torso, apparently agitated. She dryly laughs it off, mentioning briefly that she took an earlier flight, eager to escape Victor. She throws an equally warning glare in his direction, her body stiff at his nonverbal attack. Leon tilts his head away from Kabu, eyes narrowed. Gloria inhales patiently, handing his coffee to him with a mild aggression and a challenging smile. Some barely sloshes out of the lid, and Leon grits his teeth as the spill hits his hand. He takes it regardless, having to tug it from her hand a bit more harshly than socially standard. 

Kabu looks between them, perturbed, before clearing his throat. 

Leon stands straighter, crossing his arms while internally chastising himself and his junior. He shakes his head and sighs, side-eying Kabu whose attention is directed specifically at Gloria. It’s a soft expression, and guarded. But it’s none of his business. He reminds himself to stay out of it. To keep it to himself and let transpire what will transpire, regardless of Hop. Leon begrudgingly excuses himself, opting to invite her to dinner at his mother’s over the weekend. He wants to catch up, discuss how Victor’s doing and her trip in its entirety. Despite that same look of disapproval on his face, she accepts, and he’s out the door and into the rain. 

Kabu hadn’t even had time to process their argument, much less Leon leaving. But then Gloria smiles at him, as kindly as ever, and he doubts he’d need to even ask. She bites into the side of her cheek. She has her coffee in hand, warming her fingers. Her hair is curled with impressive precision, framing her face in large twists. 

The jersey is clearly too large, and her shorts are barely anything, much less visible from under the hem of the top. Her legs are short, exposed, and have clearly seen good sun on her trip to the West. She’s wearing his literal replica, the very pronounced 187 hidden under the cascade of her hair. His logo is bright and broad across her chest. It strokes his ego, appealing to his personal pride for reasons he’s been avoiding for well over three weeks. It’s raining outside and she’s in slip ons like an idiot, and he doesn’t see a jacket on the couch or on her person. She doesn't have an umbrella. Or a coat. He supposes that it doesn’t matter. 

She rubs her legs together, clearly nervous about his scrutiny. Her fingers lace firmly around the cardboard of her cup. Her mouth purses and she’s glancing at him, hesitant. 

She’s...flustered. As red as her top. “So you’re looking at me, now?” 

And then, suddenly, it _does_ matter. It matters more than _anything_. She’d noticed. Three weeks ago, if not longer, she’d noticed him ignoring her, and she remembered. Not only did she remember...she held onto it. And now she’s dressed like a morning after sex, flushed from her knees to the bridge of her nose, bringing up his old, shitty behavior that he’s thrown out the door because he’d missed her. Because he’d found himself only thinking about Gloria, even though Gloria wasn't there. 

It all comes crashing into place, though mostly hypothetical. The excessive touching. The coffee and tea. Lying about speaking Hoenn. Bringing him food. He realizes that the jersey is psychological warfare. A direct attack on his resolve and status. An implication and an invitation. 

Because why would she even have that? Why would it be oversized? Why would she wear it today? Mondays are reserved for training, and today specifically is for maintenance. She didn’t wear that on the plane, did she? Isn’t she freezing? He almost scoffs to himself, losing his composure at the very tangible, provocative realization. 

Gloria has been flirting with him. It took him four months and an entire outfit for him to finally realize it. 

He clears his throat again, adamantly ignoring the small smile she’s distractedly giving the lid of her drink. Ignoring the way her hair falls about her bust. Ignoring the contrast of the red to her skin. The way her cheek softly bends in as she bites it. The bit of mascara that makes her eye color sharper. Her gentle, if not tender demeanor as she swallows, face as red as his gym. 

“You’re not cold?” He rubs at the back of his neck beneath his towel, asking in the language they’ve been practicing for months now, ignoring her previous bite. 

“No,” she laughs a bit, attention snapping back to him from her coffee. She pushes a lump some of her hair behind her ear and shoulder to expose the tiny sizzlipede nestled there. It bares its mandibles at him, on the offense. Kabu looks away, smiling to himself and taking a sip of his diminishing drink. 

“What’s this?” He manages a dangerous step in her direction, pinching at the very corner of the jersey collar as though to gesture to it. A simple question. One he’s regretting. One she avidly avoids, something daunting in her expression when she smiles wider towards the window. 

"I missed you, Kabu." 

He doesn’t know how to respond properly. So he doesn’t. "You look well, Ria."

Her brows pinch. She frowns. And he’s never hated himself more in his entire life. Just because she may reciprocate, doesn’t make it correct. He affirms the notion to himself with repetition. He’s sat in this very room, agonizing over her person and body. He’s spent hours on his social media, investigating the mere possibility that she’d be spoken for. Either out of jealousy or a desperate reason to circumvent his affection for her. And now he’s realizing she’s been mutually pining this entire time. A nineteen year old girl, after someone more than twice her age. 

She’s clearly confused. He’d evaded her admission, failing to return any sentiment whatsoever. But he called her ‘Ria’. Something specifically unique to Kabu, something she finds rather endearing and sentimental. It reaffirms her mission and intention, hands clutching so severely around her cup it might bend. 

"Did you miss me?" She asks, smirking playfully. 

He blinks. She’s on the offensive, relentless. She’s cornered him, expectant. “Of course.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. Kabu gives her an immediate, honest response with that very same blank, impassive stare he’s known for. She smiles wider, eyes dodging back to the closest window while setting a careful hand atop her pokemon’s head. It coils up tighter against her neck to rest. He can barely see her skin begin to redden against the bug’s underside. She tosses what’s left of her coffee in the bin to his left. His now empty cup follows hers before he takes a step back, leaning his back on the doorframe to the locker room. 

"You look tired, Kabu." She frowns, concern sudden to cross her face.

"How was Unova?" He changes the subject, eyes scanning the empty room as he holds each end of his towel. It’s gloomy, mid-day, the only existing presence being his front desk who was furiously typing away with headphones in. 

“It was fine.”

"I hear you're engaged to your brother," he jokes.

She laughs, once and loudly. Her sizzlipede twitches, a single eye creeping open to glare at her before closing again. "Victor was thrilled to know that the rumors made me absolutely miserable. He made a bloody game of it." 

“It was…” He sighs, looking for the right word. “...vexing...to see that everywhere." 

"Vexing how?" She takes two steps closer. He doesn't mind.

He thinks of the photos and the articles and the comments. Everything that’s defined her online presence in the last three weeks and few days. She leans forward even more, craning her neck upwards to maintain eye contact, diverting only once to his mouth. 

He notices this time. Because apparently he’s ignored it every other time. 

"You looked uncomfortable." 

"I was. Constantly." She smiles warmly, one hand straightening his compression sleeve and the other curled idly against her own chest. She smells like coffee and fire, barely recognizable behind her perfume. Her hand stops fiddling with his attire and finds convenience in resting on his arm. She’s intimately close, looking up at him expectantly with that ridiculously daunting look. “But I’m comfortable here.”

Right here, he thinks. Right in front of him. Close enough to touch. Close enough to watch her barely visible laugh lines respond to her expression. Close enough to see the very mild transition of green to brown at the edge of her eyes. Her pokemon is sleeping, unmoving and unaware. Kabu’s pulse is frantic, his breathing deep, jaw clenched, and lips pressed together firmly. He wonders exactly how long he’s been staring at her face; as if he’d lost his damn mind. 

“You never told me what this was about,” he resists a smirk as he tries desperately to collect himself. His index and thumb pull at the hem of her sleeve, gesturing again to her jersey. He tugs her closer in the process, until she's practically leaning on him for support. His free hand wishes he hadn't thrown away the tea. It wouldn't be as tempting to run his hand up her side.

Gloria’s still coyly smiling and brilliantly red. She knows she has him. She thought it'd be a fight, surpassing even Leon's battles. She thought he didn't reciprocate. She thought she'd have to earn it or elicit a response from him. But she already has, apparently. It was a gradual conversation that told her so, between his hesitant demeanor and his conspicuous staring. And it was a very natural draw that resulted in their current position. She wonders if he'd thought about her that last three weeks. If he'd concluded that he liked her. If he figured out she'd been after him in return. Or if he was finding out now, just as she was.

Gloria stands on her toes and pulls down on his free arm, stretching up to his ear as though to tell him something in secure confidence. She can feel his pulse in his wrist when she grips it, and she catches the very obvious look he directs to her mouth. He can feel her hair brush against his jaw and the heat of her sizzlipede at his chin. 

She speaks softly, her breath barely perceptible against his neck. 

“It’s an invitation.”

* * *

End Chapter Ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is NSFW.


	11. Hesitant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

He'd like to kiss her. But that's, in his mind, not an appropriate option. Despite the very evident, provocative invitation wrapped around his arm. 

Kabu firmly believes that he is not a coward. He knows that well. He’s had extensive amounts of time to acknowledge his own qualities, good and bad. And his lack of cowardice was something he'd established back in his twenties. He was invited to a foreign country to lead a competitive gym and took only a day to decide. He was in the same room as his sister-in-law when his niece was born, holding her hand and watching her cesarean section until his panicked brother arrived from his late flight. He’s faced failure countless times and has learned to be graceful, though often dramatic, in his unquestionable defeat. He journeyed, alone, from Hoenn and into Galar, practicing through the region’s wild to gain strength and competence. And he never became Champion, yet continues to try every year. 

Kabu would normally say that he's not a coward, because nearly every aspect of his life tells him he’s not. But the gym leader realizes that, in this instance, he absolutely is. Where Gloria's hanging off of him in public, her mouth barely ghosting the skin of his neck with her admission. Her fingers grip firmly into his sleeve, yet her hold on his wrist is light. She smells sweet and looks vibrant. She's presenting herself as a proclivity despite her evident exhaustion. She's inviting him to cross a very bold, obvious line. One that he's been standing at for weeks now, deliberating and self depreciating. One that he is admittedly hesitant to cross. 

Gloria is a weakness. He understands this. He accepts it. But they both have reputations to uphold. Rumors to avoid. Slander to prevent. He's old. Dated. Grayed. She's turning 20 in a week and some days.

He thinks, in just a single moment, that he would be okay to be with her platonically. Because she is beautiful, and she looks soft and delicate and somehow contrarily strong and decisive, but..he could live with just _seeing_ her every day. Just spending time with her, but never truly having her. Kabu thinks that he could still love to hear her laugh, even if it was never beneath him. He reassures himself that he would be perfectly able to tolerate seeing her every day, and never touching her. 

_...Maybe._

She leans back onto her feet, having strained herself onto her toes. Her smile is genuine, and agonizingly hopeful. She's still flushed, hands still about his arm in a sort of eager demeanor.

_...Probably not._

"Gym Leader Kabu." 

His hands jump to holding each end of his towel. He blinks abruptly, stepping back and turning fully to address the trainer at the front desk who’d called to him. Her headphones are out, and her eyes are scanning their exchange critically from behind her glasses. She smiles politely, ignoring the details. His frigid attitude the last three weeks suddenly makes too much sense. 

"You have a call from the Chairman. Something about an urgent email," she sticks her headphones back in, speaking louder. "I forwarded him to your office phone. He's on hold." 

"Thank you," he nods curtly, despite her inattention. And he's suddenly very aware that Gloria's hands are to herself. 

He turns back to the Champion abruptly, noting that she's put a considerable amount of distance between them. Her face is sheepish, attention specifically revolving around the sleeping pokemon on her shoulder. 

"We need to talk about...this," he swallows and makes a quick gesture to their position. 

She bites hard into her cheek. "Tomorrow?" 

He rubs the back of his neck. "Maybe after hours. I have a few meetings."

"Okay." She sighs, walking to grab her few belongings off the couch, then turning towards the door. She returns her sizzlipede to its pokeball, gingerly tucking it into her bag. "Text me when."

She smiles back at him anyway. 

He doesn't think about Gloria waiting to wave down a taxi in the rain. He doesn't think about the possibility of her struggling to get back to Wyndon. And Kabu specifically doesn't think about the curve of her waist hidden by the loose fit of his jersey. Or the texture of her hair. Or the effervescent heat of her body that he'd experienced only seconds prior. 

He hesitates, blinking obviously to maintain his focus. "Gloria."

She turns around, expression content yet tired as ever. It’d been a long flight. 

"If you wait, I can take you home."

Gloria remembers what Melony had told her, about being a tease. About expressing independence and poise to attract desire, making it apparent that she doesn't necessarily _need_ him...contrary to her recent panic attack on the plane. Then she thinks about Kabu's clear urgency for distance prior to her trip. How he'd evaded her gestures and glances, specifically disregarding her interpersonally. And finally, she thinks about what Bede told her, about the risk of her intent, and the chance of walking alone in the rain until she managed a taxi. 

The plan had worked, she thinks, to an extent. She knows he wants her...and she finds relief in it, regardless of the precarious consequences. She saw the looks. Felt him tug intimately at her sleeve. But that doesn't solidify anything, specifically. It only confirms her newfound suspicions. That he _does_ want her. That he does find her at least _mildly_ attractive. And now a lot of their previous exchanges makes more sense. Kabu intently ignoring her was...preventative, maybe. 

Gloria swallows and presses her lips together...and, as Bede has advised her earlier, sucks it up. 

"That's okay," she maintains her smile. "I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe." 

He hesitates again, mind scrambling for words that would keep her inside. Anything he could manage to keep her close. But this time she's quick and steadfast, out the door and out of sight beyond the literal curtain of downpour. He’s partial to going after her, but his front desk interrupts his internal conflict, politely advising she’d already called the Champion a taxi to wait at the lift. 

He nods, thanking her, heading to take the Chairman’s call. He sends Gloria a text, asking for an update as soon she's home safe.

She sends back a smiley face, tongue poking from the side of its mouth. 

He smiles. 

* * *

The rain is just as relentless the day after. But this time around she brings her umbrella, regardless of how prepared she is for the ramifications of her intentions. 

Gloria doesn't hesitate...not like Kabu consecutively has. She supposes that it's her nature. Then again, he's not the type to delay either. So maybe he's simply reluctant to be with her. Maybe it's all precautionary; he could be afraid of the repercussions, if there are any. Or maybe he's convinced she's not invested in him emotionally; that she's just offering a one-night affair. If that's the case, she needs to clarify her intentions, regardless of his own skepticism. 

So she finds herself in front of his office door, well before closing hours. She is admittedly nervous, her eyes briefly roaming across the windows of the hall that all overlook the stadium. The field looks different from the second level. Gloria sees his campaign ads and all of the sponsor flags adjusted and accompanied by new lighting. There's a magnemite flying about the wiring, checking the connections. The skylights are practically useless with the downpour and heavy overcast. Her heels are still spotted with droplets from her short trek through the rain. She’d discarded her jacket and umbrella at the rack down in the locker room, leaving a pool of water at the base. 

A shoddy day, she thinks. Though she supposes the rain is good for her drednaw. The teas she’s brought from the café are warm in her hands, contrary to the chill of the air. 

She doesn't knock. It's entirely intentional, though she could make the sorry excuse that her hands are full. A poorly plan, but a plan to catch him off guard, nonetheless. 

She slowly pulls open one of the double doors, intently quiet and cautious as she balances the drinks. He often allows his arcanine to sleep against the entryway to prevent unwanted company. She's relieved to find that this is not one of those instances. The door opens easily and quietly, hinges barely reacting to the pull. She pokes her head in, eyes adjusting to the low lighting of the room as her shadow casts through the doorway. 

He's sitting on the guest couch; the one his pokemon are specifically not allowed on because of heat, size and sharp appendages. His posture is lax, knees wide apart, his arms crossed loosely, and his head angled upwards resting against the back of the couch. His towel is haphazardly over his eyes, blocking any additional lighting from the massive window behind his desk. She can see Hammerlock in the distance, the wilds stretching in between, plagued with fog and downpour. 

She fights a laugh. His front desk had advised that he was busy. Busy meant napping alone in the dark, she supposed. 

Gloria has never seen him sleep, and she rarely sees him so remiss. She thinks maybe no one has, considering that Kabu's known to be rather energetic and stereotypically fiery. His athleticism and temperament seem to imply that he rarely rests. That and he's usually out late, yet somehow awake and jogging just as early. He seems like the five in the morning type. She knows he runs with Milo and Nessa every other Wednesday morning, and both admit they can never keep up. Whereas Gloria could sleep the day away if allowed, and only runs when her life depends on it in the wilds. 

But Kabu seems...rigid, still. Alert and prepared despite seeming so slack on a couch of all things. As though any second he'd be up and about as usual, regardless of his own exhaustion. It’s common knowledge in Motostoke, apparently, that he’s been running himself ragged for the last three weeks. Hardly the pinnacle of health, she thinks, as he usually staples to be. 

The door closes behind her, causing inconsistent bits of noise as she crosses the barely lit room. Her bag being slouched off her shoulder and onto the floor makes a scuffing. Her heels catching at the strip of entry carpet then clipping against the tile amplify the sound of her footsteps. She casually makes her way to his desk, setting the teas down before running her fingertips across the glass surface, eyeing the mild glow from his half-closed laptop. His pokemon are restricted to their balls, all lined up along the edge of the desk in slight depressions specifically for that purpose. There’s a framed picture of him and his niece, standing in front of Lavaridge Gym with their dual torkoals. Flannery’s hair is so vividly red. Her eyes match. She looks nothing like her uncle. The trees in the distance are native to Hoenn, blossoming. Gloria barely sighs. 

"You're early," he says, inattentive and less than perceptive in his current state. She jumps, startled by his abrupt tone. He doesn’t move, still stagnant in the same position. She sets a hand over her heart at the startle, inhaling deeply to collect herself. 

Early for what, exactly? He hadn't even text her after last night. 

She walks over, leaning on the armchair to the right of the couch. "Am I?" 

Kabu tenses at the familiarity of the voice, a hand quickly coming up to barely move the towel from his vision to assess her person. She smiles, a bit smug in finding him so oddly defenseless. He observes that she’s better dressed today, in long sleeves and leggings. They’re tight. He covers his eyes again, arms crossing back into the previous position of rest. 

He lies to himself, insisting that her current attire was an improvement to his jersey.

"I wasn’t paying attention. I thought you were Leon. He's coming in later to talk about...something about helping you with the preliminary rounds next season."

“Ah. The Chairman asked me to review the ‘competency’ of the preliminary tests for each gym. I thought the only ones needing improvement were Milo’s and Melony’s. So I asked Leon for ideas, maybe see if there was anything he could bounce off of your strategy. I’m no good with the systematics of these things.” 

He huffs something close to laugh, and it only slightly quells her growing concern. “I’m sure he’ll think of something.” 

“Did yesterday’s talk with the Chairman go well?”

“In a way. I’m headed to Wyndon in a week for the details. It’s about that delegate from Kalos." He won't mention the evident frustration over Kabu deleting the initial email. 

Gloria frowns. "You look tired."

She’d said it in his first language. He replies in kind. "It’s been a long day. Bad headache."

"It's not even three,” she chirps. “Do you need anything?" 

"I'm painfully aware. It's subsiding, but thank you." He lies. 

"Is now not a good time then?" She asks, cautiously. He wanted to talk about…whatever this was. Whatever he was thinking. And she doesn't hide her disappointment when considering the possibility of waiting another day. 

He can sense her discontent from the tone of her voice. And he takes the opportunity to be engaging despite the throbbing ache at the base of his neck. Because Gloria didn't deserve him at his worst, regardless of her insistence or acceptance. 

"I'll always make time for you," he admits. And he will. He's weak that way. 

She's visibly relieved. But he can't see that. And she takes every advantage of the fact, cautiously maneuvering from her spot on the armchair to stand quietly in front of him, careful to avoid bumping the coffee table. "Good." 

Her plan is in action, and, at this point, it’s entirely dependent upon her performance. And although this is not at all how she’d painstakingly thought it over, it was as good as any position for him to be in. So Gloria makes quick work of it, setting a knee beside him and quickly taking a seat specifically into his lap, propping her weight up onto her knees, straddling and comfortably hovering. His body tenses visibly. She tosses his towel to the side before setting her arms over each of his shoulders, then crossing her hands atop the headrest of the couch. He stares directly at her, analytical, but his overall expression is cynically unresponsive, even with her fingers barely skimming the back of his neck. She smiles as she takes the high ground, her hair creating a curtain about him. Kabu is entirely rigid, arms still crossed close to his chest, tightening like a vice to create a barrier between them. 

As she anticipated, he seems less than shocked. Specifically, he seems grievously serious and rather composed in the face of her advances. Rather unamused. Gloria only widens her grin, upturn creeping over her lips at the significant tension his body portrayed. 

He wanted to talk about it. 

So she was going to talk about it. 

“Gloria,” He starts, almost a tone of caution and, dare she think, warning. His hands remain to himself. His vision won't wander anywhere outside of her eyeline. He’s impeccably respectful, she thinks. A gentleman, as always. Still very, very hesitant. 

It won’t deter her. 

“Gloria, I-” 

"You like me," she interrupts. Her closeness is so immediate and so abrupt that the heat of her body is a very distinct contrast to the cold air of the room. She smells like earl grey and rain. She’s propped up on her knees, looking down at him expectantly, as though this were the actual invitation, and yesterday was simply just timed innuendo. The slight weight of her arms over his shoulders reminds him that she’s strategically ensured he has no actual way of creating distance. 

"Ria-" he’s looking for words. He has none. He’s a stupid old man, he thinks. One who has no business doing what he’s doing. One who should know precisely how to deflect this kind of behavior from someone significantly less than half his age. One who shouldn't have to fight his own hands from running along the curves of her body or his own eyes from her mouth. 

His headache is gone. 

"Admit it,” she chides, the corners of her lips curled along a pursed, genial smile. She looks soft. He realizes that her thighs _are_ soft. And the look she’s giving him is also incomparably soft in a different way. And she’s so precariously close that every word is tangible against his jaw. He feels the heat of his blood pooling in his abdomen like a choleric turmoil, creeping downwards. 

She needs to get off of him. _Now_. 

"This isn't appropriate, G-"

"Admit. It." She keeps interrupting him, taunting. 

He sighs, exasperated by her demeanor. "Of course I like-"

"No.” She bites into her cheek, eyes assessing his crossed arms and expressionless countenance. His resolute unwillingness to express the actual panic he’s undergoing is exposed by his lack of viable words. “You _like_ me. You have for a long time."

She internally mulls over how he’s yet to tell her to leave, but is rather adamant in convincing her to stop of her own accord. If he’d simply told her to get off, she would. 

"That doesn't matter.” He finally gets a real sentence out, but it’s an unintentional confession that only proves her point. And he nearly winces to himself at how it sounded. 

"I like you." She’d red now, and significantly warmer. The flushed contrast of her skin to the black of her top is severe. She criticizes herself. Her tone vulnerable and admitting, close to desperation and sounding like an insincere child. But Gloria can’t help it; it’s the only word that won’t scare him away, maybe. It’s the only word that makes any immediate sense. "I like you alot."

"You’re going to throw away your reputation for a fling with an old man?" And his face is still deathly serious. It’s almost reprimanding. His arms are still intently crossed, pressed firm against her midsection, maintaining his barrier. He can feel her fingers curl behind his head. Her breathing is inconsistent in response to his question. So she takes drastic measures, and relinquishes the advantage of her height to rest fully and flush into his lap, solidifying her position against him.

And she feels _him_ specifically, firm against her pelvis through his uniform. She smiles, acknowledging his erection with a smug expression and a very coy shift of her hips. He maintains his collected demeanor despite her boasting. 

"Admit it, _Kabu_." She articulates his name specifically, hands fiddling with his hair; she rolls her hips. He inhales, withholding a groan by clenching his teeth. 

"Ria…" She watches his jaw tense, eyes darting to inspect every facet of his expression now that she’s this close. Laugh lines. Critical, sharp edges at his eyes and jaw. She appreciates the length of his eye lashes, and the peak of his eyebrows. Always a clean shave. 

"I've been trying hard to get you to want me,” she admits it in the language she’s been lying about for months, ducking her head down as to smile into the crook of his neck. “For a couple months now." 

But he doesn’t move. And it’s not working. A brief panic starts to develop in her stomach. There’s still something very distinct and heavy that’s keeping him unresponsive. She rolls her hips again, her lips pressing against his collar and feeling him swallow. There’s a sharp intake of air between clenched teeth...but he’s still hesitating. He’s still opposing, silent and conservative against her relentless pursuit. He’s entirely closed off despite the very evident **_want_ **that she’s identifying in every fiber of his being. 

She makes eye contact. 

"I want to keep seeing you. I want to sleep in your bed. I'd like to wake up with you. Maybe visit Hoenn with you.” Her lips press into a thin line and she inhales through her nose, realizing just how domestic this all sounds. “I'd like to just...be? With you? Does that make sense?" 

He’s having a crisis. And he’s lacking words. Because how long has he been holding himself in contempt for wanting her? He thought it was absurd how quickly he’d found himself fond of Gloria. He thought it was irresponsible and obscurely incomprehensible. But here she was...conceding his affection with her own, in the most hopeless, confused way possible. Asking him to commit himself to her when he'd be long dead by the time she's fifty. She implies 'for the rest of her life' as though it were a legitimate possibility. 

"You're youn-” 

"Don’t.” She bites her cheek, running a quick hand through her hair out of frustration before setting it firmly back over his shoulder. “Please don’t say I'm young. I already know that." 

People take immense joy in reminding her that she's young. When she and Victor had admittedly panicked in their youth, concerned that they were sociopathic, everyone resolved it in clarifying that that they were simply ‘young’. That they would gain empathy in age. That they would find emotional stimulation once they understood the world. Once they weren’t bloody ‘young’ anymore. 

Gloria isn’t young. She is, but not in the sense that excuses her behavior. Not in the way that invalidates her emotional commitment to the man she’s literally sitting on. 

" _Gloria.”_ He scolds her, eyes narrowing. “You're not thinking straight. You have priorities _._ "

She almost laughs. As though she ever cared about the priorities in being Champion. As though she hasn’t been dodging her responsibilities to court him to begin with. 

“I'm challenging you, then.” She’s pushed to her limit, cornered by his courteous impertinence. She needs to treat it like a battle, she supposes. With a haphazard strategy on a whim. "If you can kiss me, and leave it at that, then I'll do the same. We can pretend this never happened."

She shifts in his lap, and he tenses, realizing that, at some point, he’d gone relatively lax. She notices, smiling. 

He sighs, eyes closing briefly in exasperation under her scrutiny. "Once?"

"Once." She taps a finger against the back of his neck. "Properly." 

Kabu likes to _think_ he has self control. That a single lapse in judgement won't be his stereotypical downfall, regardless of cowardice or weakness. He thinks that maybe he'll be able to beat Gloria for once, even if it's not a formal battle he’d trained for. 

“Challenge accepted.” He almost laughs, realizing that their exchange had somehow become playful. On the edge of a bad joke, rather than the emotionally detrimental conversation it'd been only minutes prior. 

"Then, you have my permission," she mumbles, barely audible. 

He can hear her swallow with anticipation. He assesses every aspect of her expression, from the natural details of her eyes to the dimple at the edge of her mouth. He traces the shape of her lips into his memory, convinced he'd never see them this close again, firmly determined to force her to walk away. Because he isn’t what she needs, admittedly. Regardless of his own inappropriate infatuation and regardless of her insistence and apparent desperation. She can do better, he thinks. 

Kabu uncrosses his arms, his pulse fluctuating enough to normally be worthy of hospitalization. He stabilizes her with a hand on each of her upper arms, specifically placed to prevent his own indiscipline. 

“You’ve been lying,” he mumbles, because she’s deathly close. “About speaking Hoennian.”

She smiles, her tongue running over her teeth. He watches the process. 

“It took you this long to figure that out?” Her fingers curl lightly, her nails ghosting against the nape of his neck. She closes her eyes as he leans in and closes the distance, expectant. 

When he kisses her, it's fleeting; barely a contact, barely proper, he admits. Because it burned like fire and gripped him like the draw of an addiction, intangible yet striking. And he wanted to win, admittedly for his own sanity. There's a tackiness he felt briefly from her lip gloss. He can barely distinguish a flavor off her breath. Something sweet. Something caffeinated. Her eyes open carefully, brows pinched in concern and fluster, she's red, lips parted like a proclivity. 

"Again," she barely breathes the request, cheating. Begging innocently as if he had any physical capability of telling her ‘no’.

His hands betray him. They leave her arms to slowly run up her hips, thumbs dragging into the curve of her waist beneath her top. His fingertips lightly grip against her spine into the fabric of her shirt as he trails up, one running across her shoulder blade and down her clavicle. He watches her lean closer when he reaches her collar, setting a hand on the side of her neck, thumb firming against her jaw to angle it to his convenience. 

He kisses her a second time. Almost as brief as the first, if only a little more firm and just a moment longer. Like a slow step forward after he’s already tested the water. He glances at her immediately after, addicted to that wanton parting of her lips and the barely attentive look through her lashes. But he's lost the challenge, regardless. He's used to losing anyway. 

His thumb finds the curve of her lower lip engaging, running briefly enough over it to feel the transparency of her lip gloss smear against his fingertip. 

"One more time, Kabu?" Her arms retract from their draped position over his shoulders, hands finding rightness by gripping into his collar. She presses herself back into his lap, barely mumbling the request against his jawline, ghosting her mouth over his skin. 

Kabu's composure crumbles. His hands jostle her closer, adjusting her posture to meet him eye to eye. He kisses her a third time, firm and urgent and rash. Unplanned, unparalleled, and aching. The pressure is so harsh and demanding that it feels like an assault. The hand on her neck finds satisfaction in tangling into her hair, gripping tight enough to elicit a vocal response against his mouth. The other crawls agonizingly low, gripping her hip, urging her prior motions with more tenacity against him. He runs the edge of his tongue along her bottom lip, and she allows him to intensify the action, responding in kind. 

He admits that he wants this. That he wants Gloria, in every young, vibrant, guileless way possible. And even the slightest of physical experience with her has him wondering how the hell he'd ever thought their relationship would work platonically. How he would see her every day, and not want to touch her, innocently or sexually. How he would willingly evade the gasps and noises and unspoken begging of someone he cared for so adamantly. He wants to please her, and be pleased _by_ her. He wants to taste every part of her, specifically her mouth and the scar he finds so beguiling, alongside the more intimate places that would wring out the airy moans and delicate cries on the brink of orgasm. 

He intends to hear her as much as he can feel her. 

He breaks away, only to kiss the very corner of her mouth as she seeks air. And he trails to the soft line of her jaw, running down her neck into the curve of her collarbone. He bites down. His hips press upwards, and her fingers lace into the fabric of his uniform almost painfully. She breathes his name gingerly, resulting in a burning sensation of _want_ that coils in his chest, feeding his ego and his erection. And he somehow realizes, in the farthest corner of his subconscious, that he has to _stop_. 

Because if they don't stop now, he'll end up fucking her on this couch. He can already tell she's loud. And if she's not, he'll have her screaming regardless. But the chances of someone walking in are high. And he'd rather not explain to his trainers and staff why Galar’s Champion was unabashedly riding him in his office, door unlocked. 

And he has a meeting with Leon...probably now.

But she has a death grip on his collar and her free hand is running dangerously low down his abdomen. He firms his grip on her hip and she makes another gorgeous sound, barely pulling back to give him a look. Something that told him she liked it. A specific expression that resembles the one she wears on the field. 

She smiles, that glance of challenge taking him by surprise. Her arms come up and over her head, her shirt coming off completely in the motion. And every concern or hesitation he’s ever had is gone with it. 

Her body is soft, decorated every so often with scars or marks. Her bra is red; yet another method of psychological warfare. He's stopped to stare in reverence, because he can, and she's already counted on it. She physically loves like she battles, he thinks. Specifically when she smiles like a minx, her eyes intently searching his face and her hands running up his sleeves. 

One set of fingertips ghost against his neck and the other holds his bicep urgently. The tip of her tongue runs a thin line from his chin to his upper lip as a playful taunt. She stares him down the whole way, humored by his own lack of amusement. Her tongue is warm. And she has him; he knows. But she can't make him question himself like she does on the field. She can't make plays without a strategy. Not here. Not when _she's_ the one undressing. 

Kabu kisses her again. Controlling, this time. He's officially lost count, and he doesn't care. His hands run along her exposed back. He feels the inconsistency of her scar as his fingertips trace the edges. It's erratic and runs so far down that he can't follow it without undressing her completely. He fully intends to find out just how far it goes. His thumbs rest just beneath her breasts, barely fitting beneath the wire of her bra. Her mouth is a warm godsend. She presses her front flush to his chest, hips grinding against him, lips parting against his as a breathy tease. 

Her fingers curl into his uniform like death when he nearly tips her back to take an advantageous position. She giggles at the abrupt motion, adjusting in his lap and smiling against his mouth. Her hands loosen and crawl again up his neck before she bites at his bottom lip, provoking him further. 

And, contrary to his previous concerns, Kabu absolutely doesn't care when his office door opens. And he absolutely doesn't care when Leon makes a strangled noise of unhinged shock at the sight of Gloria's exposed back. And Kabu cares even less when the door slams back shut in a peremptory panic. 

All he cares about is how briefly she laughs against his breath when they barely part. And how her ass presses firm into his lap. The color her skin turns when he runs two fingers along the inside hem of her pants. The very specific and subtle noise she makes when he props her back up for balance, his hands dragging down and ceasing at her hips, halting to simply kiss the corner of her mouth. 

She's fiery. But he's sensual. And this is not the time or place. And Leon is probably in the hallway crying. 

Kabu hands her the shirt she'd discarded in the seat beside him. She huffs, stretching upwards to redress, presenting her breasts cradled in his professional color one last time. His hands find rightness on the back of her thighs, fingers toying with the seam of her pants as he takes in the sight. But he relents, and she slides off, both standing to solidify that they needed to go. 

He pulls down on the edge of her top, straightening out the fabric in a more presentable fashion, intentionally failing to note that her garment is inside-out. He smirks. 

Gloria stands on her toes to kiss him quickly as goodbye. He inhales intimately at the contact, addicted, with a single hand urging her further upwards by her waist. She parts and falls back to her heels, and he tells her when to come back in the evening. He promises to take her home this time. Or maybe she can walk him home. Whatever she wants and wherever she wants to continue. He promises to finish what they started, a thumb on her chin, intently searching her face for any hesitations or regrets. When he sees nothing but coyness and success, he promises to spend the night, wherever they end up. 

She's red. From her skin to her lips to the mark he'd left on her neck. The flush looks good on her. She smiles, grabbing her purse from the floor and her tea from his desk. The Champion leaves his office, passing a mortified Leon at the door with a wave and her usual greeting. 

When Gloria had won the Championship, she’d had the most unique expression. Something neither he nor his brother had ever seen her convey. She has that same look on her face now, Leon thinks.

Like a victory. 

* * *

The former Champion doesn't typically swear. He's made it a good habit to never partake in foul language of any sort, regardless of struggle or loss. It never looked good for the media, and his mother never approved of it either. However, he feels that now is an appropriate moment; behind closed doors, with one of his most trusted associates. 

"What the _actual hell_ are you _thinking_?!" He yanks the cap off his own head, throwing it firmly onto the coffee table between the guest sofas in an animated fashion. His expression is panicked, and he’s sweating profusely as though he’d just trained. 

Leon admits that he feels completely thrown off the edge. The edge of what? He doesn’t know. He can only confirm his obvious anxiety. 

Kabu hasn’t even moved from his place on the couch, which he finds audacious. The older’s elbows rest on his knees, upper body leaned forward, hands running through his hair to fix anything out of place. Somewhat in a posture of regret and frustrated contemplation, at least. Yet completely unconcerned by Leon rampaging into the room, only a moment after Gloria had left. 

"What am _I_ thinking?” Kabu asks, incredulous. “What are _you_ thinking? Don't you _knock_?" 

Leon blinks, disbelief choking him into a wide-eyed hysteria. "I did knock! Twice!" 

Kabu inhales sharply, scratching at the back of his neck, looking for where she’d discarded his towel. “Oh.” 

"Wow. Okay, just-!” Leon turns, beginning a new round of pacing. He inhales through clenched teeth, groaning out the exhale. “Kabu, she's my little _sister_!" 

Kabu withholds a scoff, instead quietly leaning back and giving up on his search. The towel wasn't really important right now. "She's not your sister."

"She might as well be!" He expands an arm, gesticulating wildly to affirm his outburst. Leon runs his hands down the length of his face, groaning and continuing his futile ambulations. 

This is possibly the most awkward conversation Kabu’s ever had, dethroning his grown, twenty-four year old niece asking why he’s still single. Leon’s relentless breakdown was...an unanticipated overreaction. One that he can admit has no notable source or reason (at least none that he can pin), but stems from an evidently sensitive place. Unless he was attracted to Gloria. Then again…’sister’ is an odd term to use if that’s the scenario. 

Kabu sighs, leaning indifferently into the couch and extending his arm across the back of it.

"You came here to discuss ideas for the preliminary rounds for next season," he attempts to change the subject, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. The headache was creeping its way back into his skull. 

"That can wait, don't you think?!" And now Leon sounds oddly...hostile. Could he even _be_ hostile? 

Kabu considers that maybe Gloria should have stayed to resolve this apparent complication. This is, by all means, entirely her fault. At least that’s what he’ll jokingly tell her later on. 

She’s better with handling Leon, probably. More understanding, he thinks. At least in this case. It’s easy to yell at an old man who’s drilled self-control and training into your head for most of your adult life. It’s impossible to yell at the 152 centimeter tall female that’s been a reliable, innocent friend since early childhood. 

"No," he responds curtly. 

Leon runs his rigid hands through his hair, still trampling back and forth along the length of his office. "How long has this been going on?"

Kabu raises an eyebrow at the question, leaning further back into the couch. "That doesn't matter."

"Really, mate?!" Leon scoffs, throwing his hands out dramatically. "I walk in with her shirt and trousers off and it doesn't matter?!"

He should have clarified. It's not that it doesn't matter, but rather it was none of his business. The gym leader groans, mumbling his response into his hands. "Only her shirt."

"What the hell?!" 

Maybe not the best response when attempting to abate someone’s anger. 

Leon feels...a sense of betrayal. Not only on behalf of his brother, but specifically pertaining to that fact that he'd just spoken to Kabu about this yesterday. And never once did he mention this. Never once did he even insinuate it. He'd concluded that the older had been clueless, albeit pining. But this...this was a drastic development. This was a physical, real relationship. An actual affair that he'd insisted to himself wasn't a realistic outcome. And now he's panicking, like an unincluded child.

"Leon. Gloria and I-" 

"Is this a long term thing?" The younger interrupts him. Apparently it's a trend today. Apparently the elderly can't get a word out. 

Kabu's brows pinch, the sudden wave of agitation evident in his countenance. He stands from the couch, certain he's more presentable now, crossing his hands behind his back respectfully. "Of course it is." 

His response was colder than he’d intended. But the accusation was...childish. And brazenly ignorant of Gloria's independence or accountability. Then again, Leon was freaking the fuck out. He'd never, in the last ten years, _ever_ seen Leon lose all competence to panic. Even in his boastful youth, the kid was still patiently collected. And particularly now, at twenty-eight, Leon was typically a mellow individual. 

"This has bad pr written all over it. You have to see that too." He has a hand buried into his hair, the other rubbing at his eyes, exasperated. 

"I'm aware," he chides, tone sharp. "It's up to her if she wants it public." 

"You're having an affair with Galar's Champion. Of _course_ it'll go public."

Kabu narrows his attention, seating himself stiffly at his desk. Leon wasn't wrong, just vexing. "It's _not_ an affair." 

It’s not. He hasn’t slept with her. And...whether he does or doesn’t, Gloria didn't make it _seem_ like an affair. Affairs are defined to be short, strictly physical. And Gloria was throwing around the word 'lifetime' loosely, but with purpose. And he'd had no intention of this specifically being an affair...but, then again, he had no other word to define it. 

"Fine." He stops his pacing, jabbing his index in Kabu's direction to articulate his point. "But you're a gym leader. And you're older than her father. And she's already flunking at her due diligence to the public as Champion." 

That was a whole other issue. Realistically, those are each, individually, separate issues. All of which he has no actual control of, technically. 

"I'm aware of my age, Leon, thank you." He refrains from sighing, opting to slouch low into his desk chair, eyeing his pokemon in their multicolored residences. He's tempted to release one. Have them amp the room’s temperature to something only he could tolerate. "She needs a new manager. She's miserable. The stunt they pulled in Unova did nothing to help her public image."

Leon starts pacing again. Kabu thinks he might lose his damn mind from just watching him. He’ll end up burning a hole through the floor at this rate. 

"I have no idea what the point of that was...posting all that _garbage_ on Victor. Then allowing the talk about marriage.” He looks about ready to pull out his hair. “Unova was a bloody nightmare, specifically because they don’t let Gloria post her own content. She couldn’t defend herself. Her manager ought to be termed." 

He can't disagree.

"Then why aren't you her manager?" It’s an idea that’s been thrown around consecutively. Sonia was the original source, he believes, and Nessa was the amplifier of the concept. Gloria was hopeful in the idea, he’s certain. She’d vocalized her approval of Leon’s social competency on numerous occasions. 

Leon scoffs again, frustration directed somewhere else temporarily. "The Chairman won't allow it. I'm still employed out of Wyndon for either two years or until Gloria loses." 

Kabu’s expression remains unimpressed, glancing briefly at the tea Gloria had brought earlier, clearly cold. "I'm shocked that it's all a corporate-driven scam."

His sarcasm comes through clearly.

"Former Champion is still a title worth sponsoring, apparently. My contract won't accommodate a second form of income." 

"That's a shame." 

He prays this is the end of the conversation. That Leon has nothing left to throw at him, resulting in his immediate departure. But he’s still running back and forth, face still agonizingly unnerved and frustrated. 

"I have to tell Hop," he says. So quickly and inarticulately that it barely forms a comprehensible sentence. 

Kabu verbally staggers, immediately stunned by how ridiculously convoluted his associate’s thought process had become. "Why is any of this relevant to H-"

"He's in love with her."

And suddenly everything makes sense. 

The older straightens in his chair, setting his elbows on the desk and sighing into his own fist, clenched out of frustration. Leon stops pacing, turning to meet the gym leader’s eyeline for any sort of relevant response. Really, it’s a look that’s begging him for an answer on what to do. And, for only a second, Kabu sees the ameature trainer, undoubtedly talented, asking him, ten years ago, how to hone his charmelion’s fire blast. 

But Kabu is not someone who bends to his own sympathies, nor the self pity of others. And as much as it pulls on his sentimental side, he has his own prerogative that makes him...happy, as well as Gloria. He crossed a line for her...or rather, _because_ of her insistence. And after today, he has no intention of drawing another. 

In the end, the outcome is decided upon who has the most viable potential to Gloria. Who, specifically, is more capable of prioritizing her emotional and physical well-being. And Kabu realizes, even with all of his previous hesitation and ambivalent conjecture, Hop still lost. 

"That’s unfortunate,” he admits. “So am I."

* * *

End Chapter Eleven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is explicit - NSFW.


	12. Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THIS NOTE. 
> 
> Firstly, I apologize for the extensive amount of time it took to finally post chapter 12. As an apology, I have included a 13th chapter. Which will be the official end of this work. I will upload it around the beginning of May. 
> 
> Secondly, this story was written during the COVID-19 outbreak of 2020, so I thank you for your support. I hope that this crack-ship fic will entertain those of us who are forced to stay inside. I hope that those of you reading are safe and well. I hope only the best to you and your loved ones is these uncertain times. And I encourage everyone, young and old, to practice social distancing, regardless of how inflated some believe this to be. If, in the future, the world says we over-reacted, then that is the best result. 
> 
> Finally, this chapter is basically a sex scene. The characters in this chapter have been stated to be of consensual, adult age. This, most importantly, is a work of fiction. Please practice safe sex, and do not use written fan works (specifically this one) as guides to physical intimacy or a means of sexual education. Safe sex includes certain measures and contraceptives that are not included in this fic. Be smart and be educated.

Gloria admits that Leon can be ruthless, both on and off the field. And he becomes rather uncouth when agitated, specifically in regards to his family or pokemon. So the six missed calls she receives from the former Champion are less than surprising, though increasingly frustrating. Especially when her current expedition match with Melony was aired on the tele, and he should have been well aware that she was preoccupied. 

So when he calls again, in the quiet confines of the Wyndon locker room after the completion of her match, she answers curtly with the standard ‘hello’. And instead of the frantic yelling or panic that she’d anticipated, she’s met with tense silence. Long enough that she considers hanging up. 

She's standing in her Champion uniform in front of her locker door, opened wide for her accessibility. She's holding the phone against her cheek, the heat of it a comfort. Her free hand reaches across and presses firmly against the mild beginnings of an ice burn on her shoulder. She inhales, opening her mouth to speak. 

"Le-"

 _‘Are you serious about this, Glo? You and Kabu?’_ Lee asks it almost innocently, reverting to that childhood nickname. Testing the waters of her demeanor and his ability to influence her actions. Is he still an authority in her life? Does his closeness to her have any relevance to the situation? 

Gloria pauses, her mouth open and oddly dry. That familiar, hollow feeling rises against her lungs like an illness. She feels the slow boil of mild agitation nip at the back of her brain. Her nose scrunches at his abrupt question. “Yes.” 

_‘And you’ve thought about this? About your career? What they’ll say about him?’_

What the media will say about Kabu? It’d crossed her mind once or twice. On the plane. In her apartment with Bede. In the waiting room at Motostoke. In the hall of his office. _In_ his office. On her way back to Wyndon. On the field battling Melony. Right as she opened her locker. 

Rancid, ruthless, unkind things. Accusations. Assumptions. Theories. And despite the sum of it, what she’d done felt... _right_ . Every fiber of her being told her that this was _correct_ and _good_ like _balance_ and _stability_. Like a composure she didn’t know she’d lacked. 

Her emotional state was so heightened and content that she'd caught herself in what some would consider a generally better mood. Things like smiling to others as an unspoken greeting, considering her mother's state of happiness given her less frequent trips to home, considering Bede and Marnie and Hop's well-being. Things specifically tied to her own happiness. 

So her answer is confident, because Leon is panicking and losing his damn mind over something that has nothing to do with him. Because Leon is acting out of turn as though the issue itself offended him. But Leon is a rather open-minded individual, she thinks. He tends to lack biases and has never expressed disgust in other's more...taboo or unorthodox preferences. It shouldn’t be an _actual_ issue; just an odd occurrence he's adapting to. And Leon, most importantly, _cares_. And his limitless concern surely stems from just how much he loves Gloria as the family they define themselves to one another. 

“I’m sure he’s aware,” she says. She can feel the moisture of her skin against the screen of her phone. She wipes the sweat from her cheek with the back of her hand, eyes focused on nothing but the expansive back of her open locker. 

He sighs. A bit of static breaks the noise. ‘You make the worst decisions, Gloria.'

He’s...not wrong, she thinks. The claim is, admittedly, true. In all her recollection, she fails to find a single relevant decision that turned up in her favor. She chose to keep trying to connect with her father, unintentionally damaging her mother's emotional well-being in the process. She chose to disconnect with Victor when it didn’t work. She decided to try for the Pokemon Championship. She won it, almost regrettably. Then she failed to be good at it almost intentionally. It was of her own will to release Zamazenta, and to convince Hop to release Zacian, leaving her as one of the only Champions world-wide without a legendary ally. She’d managed to be the worst Champion possible in her pursuit of a gym leader. And she’d specifically decided to keep it all from her mother, who will undoubtedly have to find out. 

But it didn't matter, and she felt _nothing_ in thinking back on all of those poor decisions. She only feels strongly for the choice in front of her now. 

Her odd, bland existence in a bitter, hurting limbo had, at some point, transitioned into actually living. And the last few months had triggered something strong and worthwhile. She can feel it in her skin and bones when she speaks to Kabu. How normal he makes her ardor and interest. How regular and routine the feeling had gradually become. As if she’d been accustomed to his company long before she’d met him, and she’d only needed to be reminded of how his place in her life was supposed to be commonplace and habitual. Or, more accurately, she'd felt nothing before him, and she now only feels _after_ him. 

And it wasn't to say she cared for nothing. Her pokemon had always successfully drawn out her care and consideration. Her mother and Hop held specific places in her heart. Where she'd feel their pain and had learned to appreciate their joy. But there was no specific or unique emotional response until Kabu. Nothing outside of frustration and agitation had been strong enough to be notable before she'd forced him into her routine. 

Gloria found a balance that she never knew she needed; specifically one she'd never considered possible. Even more out of place, it was a relationship she found oddly domestic and initially simple. It had somehow matured into a state of being that she'd yet to experience, and a rather urgent boiling point that had developed naturally from persistence and a white lie. It was unexplainable. The thought of walking away from her potential relationship with Kabu is comparable to losing a limb. Even his platonic involvement in her lifestyle has become necessary and vital, despite newfound. 

Even hypothetically, her consideration of ending it is excruciatingly unnerving and confusing, and she finds her free hand running frantically through her hair in a strained panic. It's like her blood is curdling and her veins are stretched taut. Gloria swallows, nails curling into the back of her scalp. Her eyes continue to bore into the locker despite her focus being back in Motostoke, her next intended destination. Where he said he’d meet her after work. Where he’d actually kissed her. 

He said they would continue. He promised to finish what she'd started. She wonders if that means sex. She almost laughs at herself. Of course it does. But she's never had sex. And she's sure Leon can safely assume something so personal by her demeanor alone. And she's even more certain that he's figured the details of their relationship from either Kabu or his own invasive observations of her behaviors and routine. 

Leo's telling her not to be with him, though indirect. That it's all a slope downhill, from his very credible, personal experience. There's also an implication in his tone that frustrates her; playing a dangerous game without knowing the rules. Because he knows Gloria and how she struggles emotionally. He knows she's easily and quickly bored. That she's not seriously involved and never has been. That she doesn't _actually_ love Kabu in any relevant or substantial way. That this is simply detrimental to their careers. And it is, even if he's wrong about the rest. 

She wants to scream, for what seems like the first time in her life. The conflicting emotions that muddle her thinking has her flustered and itchy and in turmoil. Different than on the plane. Different than in his lap. New things...she thinks. Not all good things, but specifically new ones. Frustrating ones. Conflicting, drenching ones. 

She remembers what Bede had told her. To obtain something worthwhile she risks walking home alone in the rain. 

And Leon, despite his consideration and concern, would never understand. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, steadying her breathing. “This is a good one.” 

He laughs dryly. And then the familiar hum of an ended call stales her mood. 

She jolts as the locker doors swing open immediately after, rather recklessly and without abandon, followed by equally eager footsteps. The calmoring brings her attention out of her state of fluster. Gloria looks up to catch Hop rounding the corner of the lockers, his stupid sideways grin infectious. He stretches his arms out, initiating a very familiar embrace. 

She returns it, bracing as he lifts her from the floor and spins her once out of celebration for her win. Ever the dramatic, like his brother. 

She almost laughs, and he notices the unfamiliar noise because it rings like attractive music. But more importantly he recognizes the very subtle signs that something is wrong when he sets her down. He'd given her time to change before inviting himself in, but she's still in her uniform. Her phone is in her hand, clenched tight. Her pokemon are still away. 

But he won't prod. Not after a match. Not so soon after her trip. He smiles, saying he'd brought her tea and it's waiting at the front desk. She's smiling back, thanking him curtly. She pulls a stray hair off the pristine white of his lab coat and wipes the fabric clean. 

He huffs at her, then complains that she didn't see him after she’d landed the day before. And she apologizes, briefly mentioning that yesterday was The Day. That she'd decided to come clean on the plane. That she hadn't felt like proclaiming it nonsensically, but still urgently and immediately. And rather than bother him she went to Bede for fashion help before venturing to the task on her own. And Hop understood, as he always has. 

"So you told him?" He asks, expression lost somewhere between focus and hesitation. He folds his arms and leans against a locker, watching her eyes fixate on the floor. 

"Yeah." 

"And what'd he say?" Because he has to know. Specifically for two purposes. Firstly, to determine if he still has a shot in hell with Gloria, which is unfortunately dependent on Kabu's rejection of her. And secondly, if he needed to kick the shit out of Kabu, again specifically related to his rejection of her advances. Or at least _try_ to kick the shit out of Kabu. Maybe beat him in a pokemon battle. His chances might be higher.

But he sees the answer in her face. She has that lost-in-thought expression that he'd grown up watching. But it's admittedly different this time. A little more focused. A little more present than distant. More like she's appreciating a memory instead of trying to live it again in her current mind. 

Gloria smiles wider, her lips pressed together firmly. "Not much, but it worked out." 

* * *

She'd sent him a text, saying she'd meet him after her match, well after he'd close. And Kabu had replied that the timing was right. 

So, she shows up in Motostoke on his doorstep at dusk, still somehow surprising him as he locks the gym doors to leave. He sees her initially as an approaching reflection in the window, and turns fully to greet her kindly as though nothing had changed. Ordinarily, she smiles at him; as though it was their typical routine. And he realizes, in the moment, that it is. There's no difference between now and what they'd always done. At least not emotionally. Verbally, they had said things and crossed lines. And physically, they had broken down walls and barriers entirely; physically _everything_ had changed. 

His hands are now familiar with the gentle curves of her body and his mind recalls specifically the softness of her skin. Kabu remembers how she tastes in a way that is both vague and sharp in his recollection. He recalls her specific, breathy laugh at slight teases and abrupt motions. He remembers the perk of her breasts against the fabric of her bra. But right now...when she greets him with dinner hanging low in a paper takeout bag, her pissy toxtricity securely towering at her side...it all feels serenely routine. 

Because it is. Because it's the same. The same critical awareness of his own rapid pulse. The same urges to make her laugh and smile despite the long day and bitter people. The exact same want to listen to her detail her day at length, inquiring about his own. It all precedes the same abrupt spike of self-depreciation at his own daily realization: that he is painfully in love with Gloria. Gloria who looks to him as a mentor. Gloria who exceeds him in talent and title. Gloria who turns twenty in approximately seven days. 

But the end result would simply be different, because of her own insistence. She says she likes him. She admits she wants him in every way he can give. So this time there's a changed variable. Something he intends to respect and attest; he plans to physically love her and verbally confirm it. And he strives to hear her moan it back. 

She smiles in response to him as always. Kabu offers to carry the food, which she relinquishes readily. And somehow they begin a very natural pace to his residence, because there's nowhere else to go without driving or flying. At least that's what he's telling himself, and that's the excuse she stands by.

She respects his distance in public, he notices. If anything, she walks beside him with a bit more separation than normal. She looks cautionary, and her toxtricity, as malicious and resentful as he can be, eyes their surroundings on watch. She's in her Champion uniform, hair lazily rolled into a bun; she's rather disheveled and unkempt from her earlier match. He feels inclined to ask about the bandage wrap that peeks out from under the sleeve of her top. He didn't watch the full event on the tele and it'd have raised questions if he'd gone to spectate an ice match abruptly in person. 

She catches his eyes grazing briefly over her shoulder, and she reassures it's barely anything. He believes her, only partially. It's likely nothing to Gloria. But that's relative to the electric burn that runs up over half her back. And her story of her near-drowning in Lake Miloch. Also falling off her noivern mid-flight. But he won't press the issue. He leaves it alone. Because it's her choice to endure these things and take these risks. As much as he chooses to be littered with burns of varying degrees. 

"What did he say to you?" He finally asks. And she smiles strangely at her feet as they walk, her hand occupied with barely grazing the arcs of static off her pokemon's mane. 

"Is it that obvious?" She shrugs, barely responsive. 

He sighs. "I assumed. He threw a fit in my office." 

"Leon yelled at _you_?" She narrows her eyes against a grin, disbelief evident in her tone. The idea that anyone would willingly yell at Galar's Fire Leader was preposterous. As much as the thought of someone yelling at Milo. 

"As though I were a child." Kabu chuckles, scratching abashedly at his jaw. "He worries." 

"I know. He's very...protective."

He smiles kindly. "Leon's fulfilling his role as an older brother." 

"Mhm." She only halfway agrees, uninformed, unaware of Hop’s involvement. "You said you have two siblings?" 

He nods, huffing under his breath at the last memory of his youngest sibling. "I can't blame Leon for wanting to be involved in Hop's personal life. He wants what's best." 

"Is that what this is about?" She gapes a moment, expression oddly unreadable. He can see her thinking, considering every variable to their situation. She smirks, suddenly, with more cringe than humor. "Hop already knows." 

And he pauses so obviously that he nearly stops walking. She slows her pace with him, brow pinched in concern. "Hop knows?"

"Of course he does," she seems perplexed, but they return to their original pace once he processes the information. “He and Bede.” 

Of course he does. Kabu nearly scoffs. She says it so matter-of-factly. As though this should have been common knowledge. As if he hadn't just been verbally berated by a man 20-some years his junior. He only nods his head as a response, dismissive of the topic entirely. And she accepts the silence easily, mumbling something reassuring to her toxtricity as it sulks along beside her, ornery. 

It's a moment of contemplative silence that extends longer. And it's another minute before they're in a less populated section of Motostoke. Somewhere far more residential with little to no foot traffic. She takes the very bold, risky opportunity to return her toxtricity to his ball. There's the familiar, hostile exchange as the comprehension of his sudden entrapment dawns on Tox. The surge of electricity he elicits is negated by his outright disappearance into the ultra ball. And she pats it fondly before concealing it into her bag. 

Gloria slips her arm about the gym leader's as casually as she can manage. She's unfaltering in the action, and more notably audacious. Though she's keenly aware that Kabu doesn't mind. That the presence is welcomed. She's warm. And gentle. And cautionary despite herself. 

But he's still reeling over the drama of the situation. Still rather uncomfortable with the frustrations that Leon had made him painfully aware of. Kabu would like to think that he's an old man, uninterested in the gossip or rumors that stew in the background of his profession; but he finds himself deeply involved regardless. He catches his arm tightening against hers, Gloria's fingers coil into his sleeve in response. 

And it's a quick walk, suddenly. Hastened, if he's honest. He asks about her match. She inquires on the new fixtures and renovations of the stadium. Their answers are normal, though they both doubt that the situation itself is normal. It's rather unorthodox. Specifically looked down upon. Difficult to progress due to the societal opinion that revolves around age, experience and money.

But it's becoming less and less of a concern. He nearly fumbles with the keys to his home. And she nearly trips on the step at his doorway. She laughs it off, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

Kabu watches her analyze his residence almost immediately upon entering. She gathers information, as she always does, strategically. Assessing the bits of his personality and tendencies that she doesn't yet know through his belongings and indications of a routine. Her eyes run from the hall to the kitchen, then up the walls to inspect every photo or banner that scarcely occupies them. She sets her purse on the floor and removes her flats, almost habitually. As though she does it daily. He imagines it's something her mother enforces. 

Kabu's forgotten the takeout entirely, having discarded it on the table by the door. He watches her inspection with crossed arms. Her eyes dart along every surface, hands occupied with releasing her hair from its bun. Her feet are bare, with painted toes curling stiffly against the hardwood floor. And when she turns to say something he finds himself overwhelmed and on the brink of loss of control. It finally registers that they're alone. That she's in his house, seemingly comfortable. That she'd instigated a physical relationship hours earlier. Then Leon had... _ruined_? Was ruined the correct term? Ruined their interaction? Flown off the handle? Lost his mind? Panicked? 

Gloria mumbles that his home is beautiful, if slightly scarce of his own personality. 

Kabu sighs, perturbed. Because it would haunt him somehow if he didn't confront the issues that Leon was so adamant in arguing over. He'd want to clear the air, if only to say they did this right. "Leon insists you're...emotionally lacking." 

She turns back to him, pulled out of her usual trance. He eyes her seriously, looking for an answer as to why this specific concern was being brought to his attention so persistently. Why is Gloria not trusted to make her own decisions on multiple fronts? Why is Leon so concerned and convinced that she's not emotionally ready for a relationship of her own development? Why did he bring her _here_ to discuss it???

"He's not wrong," she says. She smiles, somewhat humored. 

The older scoffs and straightens, crossing his hands at the small of his back habitually. "Hardly."

She bites the inside of her cheek. He watches a rather unnerving anxiety form on her face; a hesitance and doubt he's never seen her expose so naturally. She runs her attention up to the ceiling, considering her answer. She crosses her arms defensively. 

"I don't feel very much very strongly. And I don't care much for others. It's like...there's a limit. And it varies person to person." Gloria hums while taking a gradual step in the opposite direction, creating distance. "It's inconsistent, but certain, if that makes sense." 

He takes a step closer, re-establishing their original proximity. 

Shs almost laughs. It's dry and taunting. "But you don't know, really. It's all different, with you." 

He stands his ground, and she eases closer. "Is it?" 

"Very," she smirks, leaning. 

"Then I wouldn't know?" 

"No. I don't think so." She’s challenging him again. "But I heard that you've been pretty intolerant yourself. At least for the last few weeks."

He meets her in the middle of the room, closing that formidable distance that had maintained his restrained conduct. His dominant hand finds urgency in running fingers along her jaw while the opposite firms against the curve of her waist. His eyes run across her mouth as her lips part to a smile at his audacity. And the closeness without convergence was killing him. He's nearly as restricting as she'd been in his office, without her back against a wall. He can smell something sweet off her person, accompanied by the ashy scent of electricity from her battle, and the slight odor of medical ointment for the ice burns. 

But even now, with everything she's insisted and everything she's instigated, he can't help but feel guilt. As though he'd manipulated her into their situation. As if the nature of their exchange was inappropriate as a whole. She's young, determined, and...inexperienced; though oddly tormented for her age. And he loves her so much it feels like it's killing him. The idea that she experiences any breed of agony is weighing. The thought that she struggles is like a pitfall in his chest. 

"Of course I was," he admits. And he can almost hear Leon screaming objections. He can almost hear the rumors and slander. 

"You missed me so much it made you cranky?" She smiles wider, leaning closer and standing on her toes. She runs two fingers lightly against his hairline, straightening a stray strand. And there's real emotion there that silences any of his skepticism; she finds something satisfying in her own action. A real reaction in her that breaks him some way when he watches it cross her face. 

It's an absolutely raw feeling. So intense and overwhelming that he'd needed to clench his jaw and fist his free hand to subdue it. It catches his breath and pulls at his chest like a bind. It feels like drowning. 

"I'm in love with you, Gloria." 

Gloria blinks. Her smile falters. Her hand slowly retracts, even slower in finding confidence on his shoulder. 

He says it with such a straightforward demeanor, like it’s common knowledge. As if she should know this of him like the sky is blue or blood is red. The Champion opens her mouth to speak because her breath has left her oddly, in a way she's unfamiliar with. Another new experience that cripples her momentarily. 

He assesses her in such a collected, unimpaired way. He appears firm and patient, expression no different than his typical look of unimpressed impassiveness. Yet it's nothing short of a facade; his pulse proves it. And he wonders how fickle life can be, waiting on her response. Waiting for her to say something with his hands on her body and his mouth desperate to find hers in the most basic, carnal way possible. 

Her eyes are searching his, hesitation and concern so obvious that it aches. There's a panic about her with the way she's searching for words. But the temptation is there. And they're close enough to mingle breath. And her hair is soft and tangled and everywhere. And she'd red. Ridiculously red. As red as her bra, probably. 

Kabu leans down infinitesimally closer, until his lips just barely brush against hers. Her mouth is open, still desperately attempting to form a response, and he pauses on the precipice of a kiss, lidded and patient; like skimming the edge of fire. Gloria remembers to breathe. 

"I've been in love with you." She returns the sentiment against him, and he tastes the words intimately. Gloria wins again. And he somewhat knows it. That she's loved him for a while; he was late to catch on. 

Her hands drag to his chest before she leans into him naturally. It's a soft contact that he escalates quickly and severely out of what he feels is necessity. He's firm and rapid. One hand gripping into her hair, the other running up her side. Actions to keep her close. Insurance to maintain her physical affections. There's relief and satisfaction in it, but it's not enough, he admits. Even her little noises. Even the brief feel of her skin beneath the hem of her shirt. 

He pauses and pulls away, watching her breathe. Reminding himself of her inexperience. Of her age. "This is your last opportunity to walk away."

She laughs at him lightly, almost a giggle. Like he'd told a joke. She smoothes out the fabric of his uniform, her fingertips running across his chest. "Why would I do that?"

"No strings. No resentment. If you walk away, nothing would change."

She looks genuinely perplexed, leaning back to look him over. "And if I stay?"

He smiles so fondly that it hurts. And her blood boils into her neck and cheeks. "This won't be an affair. Or a one-time occurence. I intend to have you as long as you'll allow me, and do what we've been doing day by day, intimately."

She's red again. And unresponsive. Maybe wrapping her head around the options. But he truly doesn't see her weighing them. He doesn't see her thinking, for once. He wonders if he's overwhelmed her. 

"And if you stay," he smiles, dare she admit, sly. "I'm going to fuck you senseless." 

"Kabu!" She smiles into the palm of her hand, flush worsening. And he almost laughs. It almost kills him, how wonderful she looks, embarrassed. Gloria could probably kill him. 

"Tell me again." 

"Tell you what?"

" _Ria_." She sets her hand back against his chest, and he holds her close, urging her answer. 

She scoffs, replying in her second language. "That I'm in love with you? That you have my permission?"

"Gloria." It's all he can manage. Her name off his tongue is a lifeline back to his sense of self. 

And when he instigates a kiss a second time she hums something serene and relieved and he wants to inhale it. From there it's a downhill roll, directly related to his lack of restraint. He's spent most of his life respectful of the Champion uniform, aiming to wear it. Yet in the present moment he wants nothing more than to rip it off. 

But she laughs, reminding that it's a pricey outfit. He rakes his eyes along her chest as she pulls her top over her head, shaking her hair back into place as she discards it, breasts concealed by the red of her bra. She removes the bandage pad from her shoulder as he hooks his index into the hem of her pants, dragging her back to him. He leads her into the bedroom, hands on her the entire way. 

He has this ludicrous idea that if he lets go she'll disappear. 

And she has this ridiculous insecurity over physical flaws. 

She's momentarily unresponsive when he runs his fingers up the length of her scarring. It's immense, and he still has yet to truly look at it. He notices her recent ice burn from earlier in the evening, accompanied by her reluctant expression. And Kabu sympathizes with the uncertainty. Her hesitation is obvious, present in the sudden pinch of her brow. Her concern over her appearance is understandable; before, in his office, he wouldn't see it. And now he was undoubtedly going to. Every inch of it. 

Kabu steps back, quick to remove his compression sleeves and undershirt. Any reservations on his image had left him years ago, whereas her burns are still fresh. Within the last two years, if less. And he recalls too vividly the damage to his pride when he'd suffered third degree injuries from his own pokemon. 

Gloria takes a long, decisive look over his arms. Attention running through the healed burns and impeded tattoos. Some of which are hardly perceptible. Her fingertips are light, starting at his wrist and running up the patterns until she reaches the end. She traces, her focus so ardently enraptured by something he found so blandly insignificant. Kabu watches her intently, expressively relieved to see her smile. She thanks him under her breath, recalling the several stories he'd relayed that resulted in the damage. He brings her hand to his mouth, lips firmly idle against her knuckles. And he mumbles something about Gloria and being both genuinely lovely and wildly irresponsible. 

She blinks, finding a sudden lack of focus. 

Gloria wonders how this happened. How he found interest in her, and vice versa. How this had managed to work out so far. Someone who was convinced that their relationship was unwarranted, wanted her so deeply and so romantically that it made her ache through her blood and bones. A gym leader who vastly outranked her in tenure and experience, who seemed to be an endless pit of patience and reason, found her overwhelmingly stunning. And she found him madly attractive. From his damaged skin that told of experience to the varying tones of his hair. From the build he maintains in his physical training to the practiced patience and respect of labor and practicality. 

She thinks herself worthless from time to time, as all people do. But it had never been an actual concern. More of a fact she blandly accepted. It had no relevance until it mattered to someone she could lose. Or lose to. And her indefinite search to feel something worthwhile, whether she is worthless or not, had unknowing slowed to a halt. Now it was almost overwhelming. Because it was from one end of the spectrum to the other in only six or so months, if not less. 

She has to blink hard every so often to recognize her situation, or remind herself that this is legitimate. That _Kabu_ is legitimate. 

But it's all useless thinking. Because his hands are as firm as his strategies and his temperament is rather impatient despite his reputation. He throws those concerns of insecurity away on her behalf, pulling at her leg quickly and tipping her back into his bed, still cautious of her injury. Her hands find him immediately for balance as he follows her, relaxing against him. And Gloria laughs beneath him, so naturally and funnily that he fights a very wide, very soft smile. It exposes his nature. Or perhaps the fact that his stern, trained disposition was so easily pliable to her person. 

He asks her about her precautions. About her certainly in the situation between brief, careful contacts of a fractured kiss. She feels...relief. Relief that he asked. Relief that he understands. Because she's never done this before, and it's obvious by the part of her lips that have yet to form a comprehensible answer. She tells him the truth, that she uses precautions despite her inexperience. She realizes that birth control is a blessing in disguise, as her mother's insistence and warnings despite her protests are now a saving grace. 

But that's less than a thought when Kabu escalates their position. When her clothes are gone and he leaves her little to no time to even consider embarrassment or insecurity. He pauses only briefly to take in the image on her body on black sheets. She smiles. Because she's matching in red, simple accessories that appeal to his pride, and she knows this well. Regardless, he refuses to allow her to win a battle for what seems like the hundredth time. Refuses despite the absolute fragility that he'd developed from experiencing Gloria as a person. 

He finally removes the deliberate taunt of her lingerie. He maintains a kiss, running his hands along the exposed curves of her body specifically. He leads for once, with the utmost consideration of her sensitivities when he enters her with his index. She has gorgeous conduct accompanied by beautiful sounds in response to his actions and reassurances. His attentiveness is partially experimentation, fueled by both his own sexual rapacity and the simple desire to hear her peak. And when she says his name at a certain pitch when he curls his fingers, it nearly kills him; nearly urges him into acting out, proceeding with reckless abandon if only to take her immediately. But, he takes the time to make it a careful process, extending the range to his middle, and eventually his ring finger. Spending time watching her unravel to his repetition. 

And after his extensive show of adoration, when she begs him, _asks him_ , he submits. 

Kabu drags his eyes across her for the hundredth time, admitting that it continues to feel like the first. Gloria is young. Vibrant. Smooth and addictively soft. And he thinks it's inane that he notes her proximity out of habit. That, with one hand shamelessly handling her breast and the other partially inside of her, he still hesitates to instigate a kiss. Still acting as though it would burn her. As though he needed continuous permission of her. 

She closes the distance. Gloria meets him halfway, impatient. She insists on it. Asks for it. Promises more lewd things after it, specifically pertaining to her mouth. He thinks it shouldn't be so natural to hear her talk of oral, or being eager to be on her knees. Yet it's an easy flow. And he wonders if it's because she says what she wants without uncertainty. 

When he finally eases himself into her, there's a strain between bodies. Because it's invasive and tight, and she tenses so rigidly beneath him that he mumbles reassurances against her lips to calm her. She clenches her jaw; he feels it against his mouth. And he waits. It's a slick, burning pressure that could have thrown him off balance if he’d been standing. One that's begging him to move. Because this is _Gloria_. And the gasps and noises and gripping beneath him are so staggering and deserving of more than he thinks he can give. 

It’s the curve of her waist. Or the inconsistency of her scar. The way she bites her cheek. Her stance in battle. Her durability on the field. Her vulnerability in his bed. 

He moves, finally, again at her insistence. And he eases into a rhythm based on the movement of her hips, and the gradual slack of her body, contrary to the grip she has on his bicep and the nails curled into his shoulder blade. 

Kabu kisses her again. And again. In slow, gratifying repetition. A distraction from the initial pain. Motions that he'd gladly persist. She bites his bottom lip after a long transition, so he sets a pace that has her gripping half at the sheets and still half into his back. The noises she makes are slight and breathy, her tone consuming entirely. Her voice trembling the way it does burns a fire under his skin, reminiscent of the scars up his arms.

He quickly finds an angle. She immediately lets him know. 

The pace is faster, though still considerate of her injury. He grips her tighter when she rolls his name with her hips. His hands find rightness on her hip for control and again over her breast for pleasure. And having Gloria, finally, was almost painful in how much he enjoys her. How much he wants this to last. 

He drags himself out as long as possible. They maintain a standard position, if only to adjust her to the initial pain. 

His name follows the tight, agonizing curl of her toes.The final thrust before he's intensely chasing that overwhelming moment of light is unrestrained. He can feel her response, her contractions so much tighter and her movements nothing but trembling desperation. There's a frenzied arch of her hips and a breathy _something_ that she whines against his mouth when he kisses her. He runs from her lips to her jaw, then down to her neck. His teeth nip at the curve, where the brief beginnings of her scar wrap up from her shoulder blades.

She panics his name again and again and again, nails now coiled so firmly into his skin that she draws red lines across his back. He groans into her neck, and revels in her verbal panic as she edges closer, her body tightening and hips pressing harder against his movements. He can hear her embarrassment as she peaks, and he feels Gloria hide her face against his jaw as the sensation overwhelms her. 

His tongue runs against her skin when she comes, teeth still marking the same flesh of her neck. He sets his thumbs firmly against the ribs beneath her breasts, hands still holding her in place as he releases, desperate to pull her closer despite skin on skin. 

The afterglow is fierce and tight, brash and more blinding than incandescent. Her skin is soft despite her tension under his hands; it's a moment before she gradually goes lax. The heat of her still permeates and coils against him, the slick sensations pulsating against his hips. His breathing is rough and quick and warm compared to her overall shortness of breath. 

The feeling of completion is overwhelming, backed by the months of restraint and hesitation. Comparable to life-long starvation met with consumption. He holds her there, her body firmly pressed against his chest, raised barely off the bed, listening to his name roll off her tongue a last time. The satisfaction is an almost foreign feeling. He breathes deep, inhaling the smell of ecstasy from her neck and hair, the smell of battle more prominent than the burns. He presses a long kiss against her pulse, concentrated on the erratic beat that slows as his thumbs rub circles beneath her breasts. Her heart is a pleasing rhythm. Her trembling slowly steadies beneath his weight. 

He lets her down and props himself further up, taking in all the visuals of her body. She's thoroughly fucked into the bedding, flushed entirely, with her neck exposed and chin upwards, angled to his disposition. Her eyes barely open from the bliss, pupils dilated and tongue running over her lip. Her neck is speckled purple and red, a thin overlay of sweat reflects the light from the window. Her hair stretches across the bed, engulfing the space in tangles, split-ends and coils. Her left arm rests above her head, the right is unyielding and uncaring to leave the curve of his forearm. Each of her thighs maintain against his hips, one leg still curled around him and the other loosely pointed upwards. 

He can feel her fingertips fluttering across his scars, nails a slight dance that starts at his arm and runs up to his pectoral. She's perfect; expression lidded and spent, lips a proclivity. He examines the dimple at the edge of her mouth, lips coiling into a victorious smirk. She tenses her lower body around him, and she fights a full smile at the almost carnal noise he responds with. A noise she's heard from across the field, specifically when faced with a challenge. 

She revels in it. That she could bring such a patient, pertinent, respectful man to a boiling point. That Galar's steady, controlled flame was more of a conflagration between her legs. 

But, she admits, as victorious as she feels, he had won this fight specifically. 

Kabu finds his mouth against hers again, obstinate and profoundly ardent. An emotional infatuation that he can't keep resisting with threat to his composure. Her fingers curl into his hair and her opposing hand finds rightness against his jaw. He runs a kiss down to her chin, then her again to her neck, her collar bone, to that beautiful space between her breasts where he breathes deeply and she arches back into him. Her hips press upwards, still wanting. He's erect again, having never left her, and wraps a hand behind her back to pull her upwards and into his lap, intent to start a second round. 

She laughs lightly at how abrupt he is, arms wrapping about his neck for support. The pressure of her seated is a very different pleasure. He lifts her briefly off, easing her back down around him to adjust, fixated and addicted to the little noises that she flutters out against his open mouth. 

Kabu listens to his name specifically. Rushed and far from enunciated. Between scattered words in two different languages in several different tones. He realizes, as he presses further into the crook of her neck, thrusts urgent and fueled by ardor, that she's won him. That he would never deny her anything as long as he lived, with or without the physical gains. 

Gloria could ask him to burn down all of Galar, and he would do it, if only to keep her close.

  
  


* * *

It was the strangest sense of euphoria. Specifically when he wakes up in the morning to the even rise and fall of her breasts against him. Her mouth is slightly open against his collar, her face nestled between his neck and the sheets. She's laced into him abstractly, one leg over his posessively and her calf pressed precariously into his pelvis. One arm is folded into her chest, fingers loose, the other draped over his midsection casually. His arm is going numb beneath her, but it's far from a concern. 

He sees the developed burn on her shoulder. He wonders if it woke her at all. 

It’s early. His internal clock rouses him as the vague bits of sunlight peak through the window shades and morning fog. It's a dim, grayish sunlight from the weather, exceptionally bright yet bleak. He can smell the humidity. There's a very specific difference in the air with another body in such close proximity. Her hair coils around him in a mess, soft and itchy. She snores lightly, in sync with her steady breathing beneath the tangled confusion of sheets. Her body is comfortable, and she stirs lightly as he shifts, intent on savoring the visual. She smells like sex and rain, and the way the sun catches the curve of her shoulder has him swallowing so loudly he'd risked waking her. As though he hadn't expressed his reverence enough hours prior. 

She's always so dolled up. So strictly dressed, in heels and leggings and her uniforms. As though she always had somewhere to go or someone to impress. He wonders how often those outfits were for him, or if it was simply her preference as the Champion. She'd dressed similarly when he'd first met her. 

But to see her like this? An unwoken mess. A tousled woman, hair in knots, expression rested and without forced composure. The soft, casual press of her cheek into the pillow. The light flicker of her lashes as she stirs. She has bits of sleep in her eyes and a speck of drool at the corner of her mouth and it has him smiling so uncontrollably that he dare press his mouth to her temple in the most perfunctory reverence. 

He inhales so deeply as though he'd forget the scent. 

And he's rewarded when she shifts further into his neck, her lips ghosting at his jugular, the very breathy, very wanton mention of his name off her mouth in her unconsciousness. She stirs, shifting her position against him further. Her leg comes up and against his midsection as she curls into his side. Her arms stretch along him further. The heat of her body is unwinding. 

He wonders if this is some kind of odd life compensation for all of his losses. 

His alarm vibrates, buzzing across the surface of his nightstand. His free hand slaps over it so swiftly that he risks snapping in half rather than silencing it. But he shifts in the action, and she begins to rouse at the abruptness of it all and the piercing noise. 

She's a light sleeper, he realizes. Considering her time in the wild, it makes sense. Regardless, she struggles to wake. And he can tell she's aching. 

"You shouldn't keep them waiting," she mumbles, half asleep. 

He thinks maybe it's residual talk from a dream. "Whom?"

"Milo and Nessa," she says. Her brows pinch, eyes still closed. 

It dawns on him that it's Wednesday. Specifically the second Wednesday of the month, which has been dedicated to a morning run with his peers for the last two years. 

Kabu sighs. "I can miss a day."

Gloria laughs lightly, wincing at the sudden recognition of pain in her pelvis. "That's suspicious." 

He knows she's right. He doesn't care. Because the burn of his lungs mid-run is lesser than the euphoric burn of orgasm. And the fondness of his closest associates is nothing in comparison to the current presence in his bed. She ignores the ache and rolls on top of him, her bare breasts pressed into his midsection, and her legs tangled into his own. She folds her hands beneath her chin, content with closed eyes and the appearance of rest. Kabu finalizes his decision, physically responsive to her choice in position. 

He can miss a day. 

* * *

Hop knows Gloria well. Well enough to have challenged her intimately, determined to have crushed her in his journey to become the Champion. To follow in his brother's footsteps, and ultimately dethrone him into retirement. It was a playful sense of competition that all three of them had spoken openly about since he and Gloria were only six. 

But Gloria is less than sympathetic, if at all. And her desire to... _feel something_...had ultimately outweighed his own need to parallel the success of his sibling. In a way, it made him realize that he didn't have to be the Champion in order to be great. Nor did he have to best his brother in order to find self worth or purpose. 

He admits, honestly, that Gloria is an incredible trainer, and a brutally determined individual. She is wonderful with pokemon, and she is stellar at type counters. But Gloria, he knows, is a terrible fucking Champion. In the sense that she could care less about her image or the people, and rarely partakes in exhibition matches. Her battles are quick, and merciless, and often unentertaining in the sense that she will not smile or pose for the camera. And really, he can tell - _everyone_ , can tell - she doesn't care. 

But it had started to change, as of recent. There were more and more exhibition matches. More open challenges to the Champions of other regions. She battled Raihan, and destroyed him. She battled Melony, and struggled. Her battle with the Alolan Champion had supposedly shaken the earth. And her publicity was rising in the sense that she actually participated in the photo shoots and interviews and pre-match routines. 

So Hop is less than surprised when Leon, seated in their mother's kitchen before dinner, began to tell him the grand secret he had stumbled upon. The reasoning for her drastic change in behavior. Something so delirious and inappropriate in his opinion that he struggled to voice it. His brother looked as though someone had died, or he had lost his title all over again. 

And when he tells him, Hop is admittedly underwhelmed. 

The younger has his hands wrapped comfortably around a warm mug of tea. The kitchen smells like the home-made masala simmering on the stove. "So she finally did it?" 

Leon recoils in his seat, expression perplexed and bothered. His hands curl into fists in his lap before he glances back up at Hop across the dinner table. They can faintly hear their mother bustling around upstairs. 

"You're not upset?" The question sounds almost like a man who knew the sting of betrayal. 

Hop's brows pinch together. "No. I was probably the first to know."

"Know...what?" He asks because this honestly can't be happening. Hop can’t possibly endorse it. 

He realizes the source of his odd behavior. The reason for his sibling’s very high-stress demeanor. Sonia must tell him everything, Hop thinks. He finds it funny, and sets his tea down to speak. 

"That she was after Kabu?” Hop starts, but Leon buries his head in his hands before he can finish. 

"What the hell, Hop!" 

"Leon!" Their mother’s scold echos briefly from upstairs. Hop smiles knowingly into the brim of his tea. 

The older sighs, calling back to her. "Sorry, Mum." 

Hop wants to laugh, but he also wants to cringe. Because it’s very apparent that Leon had only recently involved himself in something that was months in the making. And, more importantly, something that had nothing to do with his older brother whatsoever. Leon clearly investigated this on his behalf. And, while considerate, it was undeniably embarrassing. 

"Lee,” Hop sighs heavily, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair. “It was never me. It never _will_ be me. If it were, she'd have been acting out like this a long time ago. She's actually living. Like having fun. Taking life seriously, for once." 

"I thought you were in love with her?" Leon slaps his hat on the table, running a rigid hand through his hair. There’s a frustration in his shoulders, stiff. "Sonia said you threw a fit about the whole affair story." 

"I am. Gloria is my most...beloved...friend. Being away from her for the last few weeks has been...agonizing. I'm a little peeved she didn't see me after her flight. And I...still feel...jealous, I guess. But I just want her to be happy. And it's clear that Kabu _makes_ her happy. And if she's happy, then so am I." Hop settles his hands back around his mug, half-shrugging off the whole conversation. He sips at his tea, ignoring the look of distress on his brother's face. 

Leon scoffs. "Just like that?"

"Yep,” Hop smiles. It’s a somber one, admittedly, but he breaks with an abrupt laugh. “You really thought she didn't tell me about it?" 

Gloria tells him everything, and he discloses everything in return. Late night phone calls. Texts. Coffee dates. All revolving around her grand plans. The trust is implicit. He'd have it no other way. 

“I really didn’t,” he admits. He considers that he may be Galar's biggest idiot. First the oversight of Chairman Rose. Now Gloria and Kabu. 

The timer on the stovetop goes off. Hop stands and turns the burner off the masala, setting his empty mug by the sink. His brother follows, pulling plates from the cabinets to set the table. 

"I'm not your kid brother, anymore. I can handle myself, Lee." The younger chides, ladling the curry from the cookware into a serving dish, spilling a bit on the counter. He mutters a curse under his breath. Probably something he learned from Sonia. 

Leon’s surprised their mother didn’t hear it. 

"I know, I know. I just…"

"Wanted to see Gloria and I together?"

"That's Mom's thing.” Lee scoffs, denying it. Lying to himself. “I'm just glad you're... _okay_."

Hop still thinks it’s funny. In an awkward, strange kind of way. He’s always been okay. He always _will_ be okay, despite his losses and the circumstances. But seeing Gloria, talking so consistently about another person, thinking much more fluidly and with purpose, does nothing but make him proud. 

"It's harsh. It always will be." Hop smirks, nearly tripping on a sleeping Wooloo as he makes his way to the table with the masala. He sets the dish down, hands tingling from the heat of the handles. He stares down at the table, lost in thought. 

And Leon wants to say that he’s not okay. That his brother hurts like he had, losing the Championship. 

Hop continues. "But I see the way she looks when she talks about him. Like she found something she was missing. She gets distracted like she always has, but in a new way. Not in a remorseful, distant way. More like...appreciation. I've never seen her this way. No one ever made her this way. But she's happy, and I know Kabu can keep that up. I'm good with that, at least." 

"But..you're _not_." Leon reclaims his seat and continues to agonize over it, placing his hat back on his head. 

Hop realizes their differences so apparently as he hangs on to defeat. With all of his own failures, he's learned to be humble. He's learned to be passive. Whereas Leon is arrogant, he knows. Their mother says he always has been. But his older brother is kind, and concerned, and hungry in a way that many people can't compete with. Leon's qualities are a mixed bag, admittedly, but that's no different from anyone else. 

"Life goes on, Lee. Maybe you ought to think on that. Stop living in the past. " Hop smiles, serving plates. "You lost, Mate. It's time to move on."

His young brother sets a plate in front of him, steam coiling off the food like the smoke off his charizard. Smell as alluring as the fresh cut grass in Wyndon. Color as vibrant as the ads at the stadium. 

Hop calls their mother to the dinner table. 

Leon suddenly realizes that his problem has nothing to do with Gloria. It never did. 

* * *

End Chapter Twelve.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There Will Be One More Chapter. 
> 
> Again, this a work of fiction. Please practice safe sex, and do not use written fan works (specifically this one) as guides to physical intimacy or a means of sexual education. Safe sex includes certain measures and contraceptives that are not included in this fic. Be smart and be educated.


	13. Progression

It's on her birthday that he formally meets her mother. 

He buys her ridiculous things. All specifically to improve the performance of her pokemon, inclusive of vitamins and ethers. Things she'd use with frequency. And, at some point during his shopping spree, he'd realized that she has no real collection of anything. So he gifts her a fossil to start one, as she has a specimen on display in her apartment already, and she'd mentioned maybe having more. He thinks everyone, really, should have some kind of collection. And her lack of one, including her lack of anything sentimental or personal, had really spoken to him on her struggle with emotional attachment.

She's perplexed by it all, seemingly overwhelmed. He doesn't know why. Her mother buys her ridiculous amounts of everything. And, to the best of his knowledge, she does so every year. Several dresses, shoes, sets of jewelry, scarves. A few master balls and hats. He's surprised she's not spoiled rotten by the sheer amount. But her type of fashion suddenly makes sense, as well as her ever changing wardrobe. 

Kabu lets himself into her apartment, having left his stadium for the day to prepare something akin to a surprise. She'd given him her spare key; an action that shouldn't have felt as rushed as it was, yet had failed to provoke his opinion. He opens the door with his nine-tails trailing behind, a gym bag hanging off one shoulder that is immediately discarded on the floor. From the abrupt clash of dishes, he's immediately aware of the second presence fiddling around the kitchen. 

He stops in the doorway, assessing the apartment and the cluttered sound of cooking. It smells like his brother's house in Hoenn, familiar and homely. Steamed rice and pork on cast iron, accompanied by the fermented scent of bean paste and radish. There's a middle-aged woman bustling around diligently and without consideration of the opened door. The sink is running and there's the familiar popping of oil on heat. Her glasses dip low on her nose and her hair is coiled over her shoulder in a mess. 

Gloria's mother looks up to smile politely. And he feels the air leave him at her very obvious lack of surprise. As though she were anticipating his arrival, or at least was aware that he was supposed to be here - in her daughter's apartment, without her daughter. 

"So you're Kabu," she says, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder and dusting her hands off on her apron. "It's good to finally meet you." 

She's Hoennian. It's obvious. From the smell of her cooking to the features of her appearance. Her hair is very standard for his region and her style reflects what is stereotypically preferred by Hoennians in Galar. In one sense she looks nothing like Gloria, and in another they share the exact same face. He wonders what her father looks like. If he looks anything like her at all. 

"Likewise," Kabu dips forward, bowing slightly. And she waves a hand of dismissal, still smiling. 

"No need to be formal. You've already won my approval, as shocking as that may come to you." Her accent is still thick. Still very rich in a culture he chose to leave behind. 

But her words are flustering, though he maintains his composure. And she is a very off-putting reminder that Gloria is so obviously young. Young enough that her mother is clearly at least half a decade his junior. And at the same time he misses Hoenn, considering just how heavy her accent is. How out of place she must feel some days; as he had when he'd first traveled to Galar. 

"It's...unexpected, considering the circumstances." Kabu clenches his jaw, his nine-tails easing into the dining room and stretching herself out on the rug. She yawns wide, and pays no mind to his obvious tension. His own pokemon clearly doesn't care at all for his anxiety. He keeps by the door, unknowingly and unwittingly, with hands at his back, respectful. 

"Well, regardless of circumstances, my daughter's happy. And I'd prefer it to stay that way, even if this relationship is somewhat...unorthodox." She smiles again, using her wrist to adjust her glasses, then proceeding to tamper with the timer of the oven. 

He sees a munchlax sleeping comfortably on the couch. 

"Unorthodox?"

She laughs, once and hard. And it's the same kind of snarky, crisp laugh that Gloria has on rare occasions. 

"With all due respect, Gym Leader Kabu," she turns to the running water at the sink, starting to scrub dishes. "How else would you describe my daughter?" 

He could list a thousand other things, really. All better than her single, opinionated terminology. So he starts to, as though on command. Adjectives he found to be true to Gloria's character. Things he could say easily, which came as natural to him as fire. 

He prattles on. And he stands there respectfully, correcting her firmly. 

Her mother smiles, satisfied. 

* * *

They keep up their routine, with or without risk or approval. She brings him lunch certain days, he takes her to dinner after matches, and now it's daily. But each has a tendency to walk the other home and spend the night. And there are days in a row where Gloria doesn't even go home and there are mornings that Kabu arrives in a taxi out of Wyndon rather than walking from the direction of his home. 

And people closest begin to notice. His receptionist knows, very well. She smiles each morning that he comes in on time rather than early. And she says absolutely nothing on the rare days in which he rushes in, late and disheveled. 

And Nessa arrives one day, with very specific questions that drill into his very soul about why things are changing. Why did he miss their morning run? Why is she hearing that he's out and about at ungodly hours? Why was he not home one late evening when she went to visit, out of concern for her most trusted mentor? Why is he not at the stadium and not at home on weekends? 

"Who is she?" 

Kabu is unamused, re-racking the bar of his weights before sitting up from the bench. He sighs, running a towel across his brow. His arms hurt beyond the anticipated burn. It reminds him of his age. 

He looks up at the woman standing at the lockers, her arms crossed and damp hair draped dramatically about her. She looks strong, as she always does, in her uniform and heel floats. However, in this instance, she looks particularly powerful in a way that exceeds her norm. She wears a confidence she claims he’d taught her. An intimidation tactic that wins battles before they'd even start. But he thinks he’d done no such thing.

There's a pride that swells in his chest, accompanied briefly by a sharp pang of betrayal. 

She tosses him a water bottle before crossing her arms again, and he takes a drink as she inquires further. “Who is who?” 

“The woman you’re seeing? The one you’ve coincidentally failed to tell us about.” Us. She and Milo. Said in a tone that tells him she's disappointed that he chose not to confide in her. But she doesn't understand the circumstances. And he thinks, surely, she’d cut him some slack if she’d known. 

Kabu rests his forearms on his knees, bottle in hand, and takes a steady breath. He eyes her, daring. "What are you talking about, Nessa?" 

She stares at him oddly, almost offended, with a narrowed expression, a blatant suspicion. A look that tells him of how often she’s harassed and yet how little she bends to it. The face that’s seen as much discrimination and judgement as it has cameras and praise. He can see her patience run thin by the firm press of her lips and the careful tilt of her head. He sighs, staring intently at the bottle. 

"It's Gloria. Isn't it?" 

His eyes find her immediately. He swallows, inhaling deeply, controlling his pulse. Of course, Nessa would figure it out. Whether it be by her own intuition or from Hop telling Sonia and so on down the grapevine. Regardless, she knows. 

He smiles, huffing a laugh. The tension leaves him, because it’s pointless. "You’re always the first to figure these things out."

Nessa grins, leaning to set a firm hand on her mentor’s shoulder. “I won’t say a word.” 

* * *

Gloria watches every one of his matches when the season starts. And she shows up to his stadium devoutly and in routine, and in turn must visit other gym battles so as not to attract unwanted questions. But his battles, specifically, entertain her madly. He's strong, she knows. And his methodologies are aggressive and swift. She can assess his form and execution for years and never be as balanced or clean. And yet his weaknesses and disadvantages come from his own aggression, which she supposes stem from his loyalty to a single type. 

To be strong with only fire pokemon is insanely rare. And she wonders just how different battles would have been to both herself and Leon if Kabu had never limited himself to such an easily countered element. One that he is both devoted to and also obligated to utilize given his position.

He is a very firm, intimidating presence on the field. And his posture, so straight and consistent, holds him high even in the very rare face of failure. He speaks to his pokemon with such old-world formality, urging a way to gain an advantage in the face of true adversity. She can barely read his lips on the big screen, eyes flashing between the enlarged visual and the actual battle from her place in the tunnel. 

She recalls how he had entered from the same tunnel during their match. He does so as a sign of respect to every gym challenger. And she found it to be one of the many reasons she'd felt attracted, and also one of the first. Seeing him beside her, a sign of equality and respect, had given her more insight to his character than anything she had studied of him online prior to the match. 

He wins. He'd lost the last time, just the day prior to a savant of a water type trainer. His first loss of the season, fourteen matches in - always so dramatic to lose. But it'd been raining and the challenger was incredibly talented and Gloria herself thinks that she needs to be cautious. It would be poorly of her to lose her title in a single season. One to keep an eye on, she thinks. 

He tells her so over balti and rice in her apartment, insisting they train to develop a proper counter. He gives her reasons, play by plays, and advice on her team lineup. He advises of the possible moves this new trainer may learn as his pokemon evolve in the journey to Wyndon. And he tells her that this is a formidable challenger. As much as Hop or even Marnie.

She smiles, swirling her spoon through what little is left on her plate. He waits for her response, deathly serious as she so often finds him to be. But he breaks when she slides her bare foot up his leg beneath the table. And he sighs as she closes her eyes, appreciative of the moment. 

She tells him she loves him. He exhales a slight laugh, his own fondness overwhelming the sting of his loss. He reaches to take her hand, pressing a kiss firmly against her knuckles and breathing deeply. 

He doesn’t even have to say it, she thinks. 

* * *

Her presence in his home has become perpetual and rather domestic. As well as his frequency in her apartment, be it an evening spent over or just dinner and training. 

Some days she cooks, or some days he does. She says he has a talent for it. He's not so sure. But some days Gloria cooks incredibly well, and others they laugh over just how dramatic an unintentional flambé can be. Or maybe how her toxtricity may or may not be the better chef between the two. 

And some days the food is forgotten entirely. Usually when he lifts her up to the counter to satiate a different kind of hunger in a very different kind of way. Where his mouth runs appreciative lines along the inside of her thighs, traveling until his tongue finds his very specific destination against her core. Consistent until she cries his name, begging begging _begging_ him for anything and everything. Her hands like to coil tight in his hair, her back tends to flex taught off the counter. He enjoys running his hands from her hips to her navel and back, watching the motions of her body intently. 

And other days she gets distracted. Or intentionally distracts him, dependent upon what she is or specifically is _not_ wearing. And she almost always laughs into such a coy, wanton smile, something boiling over on the stove, comparable to the feeling in his chest. She likes cornering him with his lower back firm into the counter, and he falls into it every time, perhaps subconsciously intentional. Her hands work him free and her mouth takes him slow. And he can't decipher the smell of burning from the oven, as familiar as fire is to him, when her lips meet him flush, and her tongue runs along him firmly. 

Kabu admits it takes them time to find the perfect rhythm in both the bedroom and the kitchen. She's inexperienced, and he's rather jaded. But it works perfectly well and he finds them intimately compatible. He enjoys the game he plays to elicit certain moans, always accompanied by the arch of her back. And she can't get over the very quiet, very choked hiss of a curse he mumbles when she runs her tongue against the underside of his length as a taunt. He adores pressing kisses along the scar of her back. She loves running very light skims of her fingertips along his arms. 

Gloria knows it cannot be physically better, despite her inexperience. She knows this well, in his lap on her couch, allowing one of his hands to roughly outline the curves of her body, and the other to stimulate her with circles against the peak of her core. And she thinks it is a fine combination of his experience as well as the fact that, simply, it is Kabu. And she would never have anyone else hear her this way. Nor would she ever love anyone else in the same fashion. Never would she want a different individual to sink his teeth so firmly into her collar upon the brink of orgasm. And never would she allow another man to release himself inside her. 

It is a different experience every time, and yet the same result after. 

They either eat well after or the food is ruined and one of the two dials for delivery. Neither mind either outcome. 

* * *

They have an argument. They disagree often, but never before was it an actual argument. It's been nine months. Nine months of hiding. Nine months of sex and deception and visceral intimacy. 

Her toxtricity is there, and has since accepted the somber, cruel reality that Kabu is a permanent fixture in Gloria's life. Nonetheless, he recognizes Gloria's improved lifestyle. He and her team understand that she's become...better, in a way. Since his hatching, he has always loved her. He'd significantly hurt her when their relationship had been new and unpredictable, and as a result he finds himself responsible for Gloria as both a willing friend and a fierce defender.

It is a very... _common_ role...as a pokemon, he admits. But one he fulfills correctly, regardless. 

Gloria, he thinks, is arguing about another man. One he's never met. Some diplomat from Kalos, apparently, who intends to travel with her to another region. Someone Tox is confident he won't like. Because he knows that he hates almost every human who is not Gloria. But that's fine. And Kabu is making complete sense, in his very limited opinion. That this delegate has strangely asked for a private trip with the Champion to Kalos specifically, offering to show her the region himself. 

Kabu says that Gloria should politely decline, despite her manager and the Chairman encouraging the time away. Because the delegate cannot be trusted and according to rumor has been known to invasively touch female humans. Kabu has been working with the foreigner for six months now on a matter of foreign relations, he thinks. Things Tox knows from bits of their conversation and what he can specifically recall; he believes that Kabu knows this man relatively well. And, from the energy that the trainer is radiating, he can agree that this Kalosian human is likely as trustworthy as a starved, wild arbok.

Gloria won't hear it. She doesn't often feel threatened or scared. A flaw which has resulted in many a poor decision or injury, all of which Tox has seen first-hand. The fire trainer knows this, and voiced his disapproval of her recklessness. And so began her refusal to bend, as his Gloria is wildly strong and incredibly smart, but lacks a social element that would expose the Kalosian's possible intentions. 

But Kabu can be as temperamental as he is passionate. And the man is rather possessive, as Tox admits that he knows what possessive looks like from his own behavior. So when he finds himself at the climax of their argument, in which Kabu has finally raised his voice at her impassiveness and apparent aloofness, Tox steps in, as it is his duty. He slowly heaves himself off of Gloria's couch and bares his teeth, with electricity arching off his mane. He stands between them as a warning, or maybe a blatant threat. He hasn't decided. 

Yet Kabu remains undeterred, and glares back. The human maintains his footing, crossing his arms and waiting, expectant. He can see the blaze in his eyes, adequate for a trainer who surrounds himself in fire. Tox is frustrated. Because not once has this man bent under pressure. Not once has he even flinched under the scrutiny of any of Gloria's pokemon or even Leon. And all Gloria has done is...change. Become stronger. Learn from him. Develop. 

Tox lunges forward slightly, ignoring Gloria's suddenly flustered protests. Her little hands gripping tight at his back to force him to yield. Kabu doesn't flinch. Perhaps because worse things have struck him. Or maybe his resolve is simply unwavering. 

Tox thinks, begrudgingly, that Kabu may truly be worthy of his trainer. 

Gloria steps between them, almost...panicked. Something Tox has never seen of her. She firmly tells him to 'put it away', a hand forcing him back firmly and with command. And so he does, agitated, like a scolded child. He retracts his amperage and tones down, stepping back to allow them space. Gloria tells him adamantly to go to his room, in which he bitterly starts a frustrated walk to his ball to rest. 

He hears her apologize to the older human with a softened tone of sympathy. She expresses remorse for her own behavior, rather than her pokemon's. And Tox barely sees her run her hands up the man's arms as a comfort before resting gently on either side of his face. And he watches his trainer stand on her toes to press her mouth lightly over the older's. And the man buries his face to breathe deeply into the crook of her neck, holding her to him like a lifeline. Such a human thing to do. So odd, in his mind.

Kabu almost seems to crumble into her out of reverence and concern. His arms are wrapped about her like a vice, and he seems to be mumbling apologetic things into her hair. Tox can smell the regret. The self-blame. He can feel it in the air. 

It's true that this strong human is so very weak to Gloria, if only because he cares so deeply for her that it is agonizing. Tox understands, better than any of her team. He knows now, with certainty, that the fire trainer is truly worthy of Gloria. That Kabu will defend her in his place if for whatever reason he cannot. 

And Tox thinks, before returning to his ball, that his job is done, as jealous as he is of her affections. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Her father dies. Abruptly and without warning. She is incapable of consoling her mother, who fell so deeply into shock that she'd gone completely silent. 

Gloria asks him if he would fly with her to attend the funeral. A chance to be in Hoenn again, if anything. And he agrees, if only to support her. 

He notices that she never cries. But her silence is overwhelming, somehow. As though the unnatural state she's floating in muffles his own comprehension and focus. She drifts in and out of reality for the first few days, and she holds his hand throughout the service regardless of media or photos. She spends a grossly large sum on the casket and the service and the decor, specifically to appease her brother. 

She's biting hard into her cheek. He can see the depression into her face with how relentless her teeth dig in. He runs a thumb over her knuckles and she stops, lacing her fingers through his even tighter. 

Kabu meets Victor. Gloria apologized in advance, mustering the energy to admit that Victor can say hurtful, gross things when he's in a state of disarray. Her twin ignores their mother completely. The woman presses her lips together firmly, inhaling and turning to leave the conversation completely. An act of clear regret but obvious awareness and acceptance. Or perhaps a lack of emotional energy. 

Victor tosses their mother a bitter look, one aimed pointedly at her back. His hands rest limp in his pockets, and his posture is lax in a way that makes them cautious upon his greeting. 

"Nice of you to host, Lo." He cracks a brutal smile, insincere and faulty, before turning to introduce himself. "You must be Kabu." 

Kabu withholds a physical reaction. His eyes barely narrow into his greeting. 

"It's good to finally meet you, Victor." The older extends a hand, patient and politely in consideration of Victor's western upbringing. Forgiving, given the circumstances. 

Victor eyes it, and refuses the gesture with a dismissive wave. 

"Right. ‘Cause she talks so much about me and our old man, right? Between all her photoshoots and scandals?" 

A few heads turn at the comment, halfway attentive to their conversation. 

He can feel Gloria tense beside him. " _Vic_." 

"Look at that, Lo. You had the right idea." Victor abruptly undoes his tie and shoves it nonchalantly into her chest. He loosens his collar. Her hands come up, gripping it aggressively. "He wasn't even dead yet and you went and replaced him." 

"Victor!” She yells it. Loud enough to entice the room. He has to hold her shoulder to prevent a physical reaction. 

"Figures. It figures that I lose my Dad, and you keep your shitty Mom. You end up Champion, I end up drowning in student loans. You find love. I get fucking nothing. But I’m the Unovian asshole, right?" 

And he waits. And so do the guests. They wait for her response. The rival siblings, staring each other down in a hostile exchange. Kabu holds her shoulder so firmly he fears that he may dislocate it. But the pressure of her rigid posture and desire to swing keep him firmly in place. And finally she loosens, turning her back to leave entirely. 

"Victor," he starts, trailing off momentarily as they watch her leave. "I'm sorry for your loss." 

"Yeah,” he wipes at his eyes. “Me, too." 

* * *

The service is refined. It's all rather quick. No one has words. Not even their mother. 

The man's put in the ground. Cars start to depart. It's all a relatively surreal, overly proper experience. Unlike anything he's ever encountered. And he hates to admit that he has attended many a funeral.

Looking at the photos and floral displays, all mourning the loss of a man several years his junior, he sees that Gloria does have a striking resemblance. Specifically, her eyes. 

He leaves the thought behind. 

Victor is one of the first people to leave. Her mother wanders off, inclined to spend a moment of silence through a walkway that curves between blooming trees. And in only an hour, it's just Gloria holding his hand, having been entirely lost to her recollections and thoughts. They stand at the front gates, staring at the parking lot. The air is cool, despite the season. 

"Will you tell me about your father?" She asks him. 

He thinks it's a question he should be asking her. But Kabu’s not one to deny her. Not now, in her time of need, and not ever, regardless of time or place. 

He sighs, his grip firming around her own. "If you promise not to laugh." 

A smile cracks anyway, and she rests her head against his shoulder. "You haven't even told me about him and I'm halfway there." 

" _Ria_." 

She quietly laughs, almost mocking his seriousness. "If he's anything like you, I doubt I can keep a straight face." 

And now he can’t fight it either; the gradual smile that he’d resisted pathetically pulls. Accompanied by the slight tickle of her hair against his chin. The familiar fragrance of her perfume masking the smell of battle. The way her free hand fidgets with his sleeve, as much as she bites the inside of her cheek. 

"He was hard-working. Rather stern. He raised milotics for river transportation. My mother would sell him feebas.” He sighs again, heavy, at distant things. Old memories. Ones that he likes to joke are in balck and white. “That's how they met."

She jolts away from him, hands gripping his arm like a vice as she looks to him with genuine astonishment. Kabu regrets nothing, seeing a wide, shameless grin split across her face. Something he only sees in their bed or across the dining table. An expression she reserves for precious moments, whether it be intentional or simply the timing of their interactions. A sight that is crisp and gorgeous alongside the smell of his hometown and the breeze. One he affectionately burns into his memory. 

Gloria laughs, once and hard. It sounds like music. "You, and all your fire-related entendres, came from a _water-type_ family?"

He scoffs, resisting the urge to look away from her. Otherwise he’d miss her awful choke of a mocking laugh, half hidden behind her open palm. "It's humiliating, I'm aware."

“I wouldn’t say _humiliating,_ ” she pauses as her energy dwindles, eyes running across the parking lot in thought, mumbling. "You probably _would_ look better in _blue._ " 

He looks at her fully, stunned by her crude accusation. "Take it _back_ , Gloria." 

She smiles again, keen to recognize the actual blaze in his eyes. The fire that tells her he was meant for his role. The unspoken language that kept the bond with his pokemon unwaveringly strong. 

Gloria keeps smiling. "Never." 

* * *

She rolls over in bed one morning, having been restless and awake for most of the night. Maybe thinking of work. Or of her brother, whose well-being tends to concern her more often these days. Maybe her mother, who is still emotionally healing. She says she doesn't feel like talking about it in the immediate moment. And he respects that desire and will listen when she's ready. 

Gloria spends the night with him almost always, anymore. He thinks she maybe sleeps in her apartment or at her mother's once a month, if less. And he admits he'd have it no other way. To wake up to her...is indescribable. 

Her hand runs up his chest, fingernails ghosting his skin before she abruptly rolls atop him, her breasts firm against his midsection as she lay over him lazily. Her legs tangle into his, their midsections flush. Her fingers trace old, old scars that barely show through the hair on his chest. And her steady breathing slows the pace of his pulse. He's running a simple band of white gold between his fingers at the base of his neck, concealing it from her, and contemplating his question with only slight hesitation. 

How does one propose? He never felt the need. Never felt the desire to until now. Didn't even know if she wanted to. But he knows it wouldn't scare her away. And it would never deter him if she declined. And he thinks, maybe, that she'd like the idea, somehow. That it would appeal to her. 

Gloria yawns, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Should I put the tea on?" 

"Will you marry me?" 

She pauses, her expression unchanged, eyes focused intently on the bits of misty, early sun coming through the curtains. 

"When?" she asks.

"Tomorrow?" He jokes, grinning at her madly as she crawls up his body to meet him eye to eye. Her hair cascades about them in a tangled, unbrushed mess and she smells like sleep and the sheets in a way that tells him she’s real. Not some figment of his imagination, not something his elderly mind made up as he unknowingly suffers from dementia. Which is a very real, very consistent fear he'd harbored. 

Regardless, he'd ask. 

He presents her a very simple band, recalling her criticism of excessive engagement rings over some distant conversation they'd had over, what feels like, a decade prior. And she blinks, pressing her lips together firmly as she considers it. 

"I'm busy tomorrow. What about today?" 

"Today?"

She hums, biting into her cheek. "I'll have to cancel lunch with Bede and Marine. But you have an exposition match with Melony, remember?"

He huffs a coarse laugh. "She won’t mind." 

"Don't we need witnesses or something anyway? A thirty day notice? Paperwork?" She'd want Hop there. And he'd likely have Nessa. It'd be discreet, outside of the public eye. Only those two would know, she assumes. 

An act her manager will likely have no approval of. 

“Something like that,” he admits. 

"Okay. Then let’s at least start today," she hums. "In Motostoke?"

"Does it matter to you?" He smiles as she traces a shape he can’t decipher into his arm. 

"No. But that's where we met." 

"Okay.“ He can’t stop smiling. “Today. After work." 

She presses her lips at the corner of his mouth, and he releases a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


They're eight weeks into the second season when they finally hit the papers; she seems less than concerned. 

They call it an ‘affair’, and it frustrates him. 

A brutal headline, followed by an invasive image taken during their trip to Hoenn months prior. It leads into Gloria's recent decision to terminate her manager, all overpowering anything pertaining to her growing sucess. Too much speculation trying to tie everything together, slandering her image. 

He watches the news after one of her matches, seated with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixated on the flat-screen in the locker room as she exits the Wyndon Stadium, swarmed. There are seven reporters in his lobby, all fighting the crowds that'd come to see the day's latest competitors. His receptionist has reiterated again and again that he's unavailable. 

He's trapped, and rather agitated by the nuisance of it all. He doubts he'll be able to leave without some kind of media confrontation. He considers sleeping in his office until early hours. 

But on the tele, Gloria's calm, with a polite smile on her face, hands holding her alcreamie to her chest. The little creature is making grab-hands at anything that relatively speaks to her interest, wriggling unceremoniously in Gloria's arms. Hop is beside her, lab coat on and somewhat unshaved, wearing clear frustration. Her toxtricity arches under the door frame behind them, standing at his full height in response to the unnaturally large group of people blocking their progression. It bares its teeth and sparks, intolerant of the cameras and noise. Her arcanine is rigid, hair standing across its mane and back. 

He’s almost stunned to see her dragaon-type, roaming freely at her side. It creeps eerily into the sunlight, transparency evident and expression less than amused. It's incredibly rare to see her dragapult, both on and off the field. The creature is a trump card. So mysterious to the public that, generally, no one knows its name or gender.

It coils around her, floating as she walks. There are two dreepys that float with it, almost playful as they dance around their evolution carelessly. He can see it recoil slightly when the media hone in, paparazzi edging into her personal space for information. The defensive hiss that her ghost-type screeches is high-pitched and metallic, almost otherworldly in how visceral and shrill it sounds. The rows of teeth protrude as its tail whips across the open space between itself and the press. He can hear the cut of air, abrupt and violent. 

It's not a common pokemon. Specifically because no one is willing to train it, as it has violent and unpredictable tendencies. It screeches. And the press back off immediately. And the plaza goes silent. Gloria mingles her way through, waving to the cameras as though unsurprised. Hop is rigid. 

And yet, they persist after a moment of adjustment. The very obvious, collective realization that Gloria would never allow anyone harm at the hands of her own team. 

The questions are fumbled. It’s all a rushed, chaotic event that forces her into a corner. 

"Is this a legitimate image? Is the relationship consensual?" 

"Will this lead to a bias among the tournament entries?"

"Will fire-related endorsements have a higher chance at success?" 

“Is this a platonic relationship? How long?” 

“Have you had relations with other members of the Pokemon League?” 

Hop is increasingly confrontational, yelling defensive, agitated things. Yet Gloria is firm in her ability to disregard and press onward. And Kabu supposes that it's one of the many reasons he grew intimately fond of her. There is an ache in his chest as she is verbally assaulted, and it grows more and more violent with his pulse as each question becomes more and more invasive. Her pokemon clear space for her to walk, and as she progresses, the media moves in backwards fumbles. And her slight smile never falters, as she stares down the relentless cost of fame. 

He stands, throwing his towel to the ground in frustration. He can feel his expression sour at the jostling image of senseless media following her every move. Hop shoves a camera and knocks a mic out of a woman's hand. But Gloria takes it, swallowing down any visible anxiety and acting as though it were a normal win. 

"What do you gain out of this questionable affair?" 

Gloria stops, her free hand coming up gently to halt her dragapult. Hop stops, leaning to mumble a hasty warning in her ear. Her lips part as her teeth dig into her cheek, fingertips fidgeting as her smallest pokemon squirms energetically in her hold. Her eyes briefly find the camera, as though she knows Kabu is watching, before she reverts her attention back to the journalist. A grin splits across her face, and the crowd becomes mildly quiet as she preps for an answer. 

“An affair?” she asks. 

Hop's anxiety is written all over his face, and he grips her shoulder firmly. 

The man with his mic staggers a bit, perplexed at her own confusion. “That’s what they’re calling it. Is it true?” 

Her head bends down, smile evident even as she looks back up to confront him. She places her alcreamie in the arms of her closest friend, who stumbles slightly at the action. Hop looks immediatly panicked. But Gloria knows what she's doing. Her eyes hold a sort of challenge, a similar provocation that had piqued Kabu’s initial interest during their first battle. The same ambition he had admittedly and reluctantly fallen in love with, refined by her kindness. And he thinks, for only a second as he understands what she’s about to do, that she absolutely _won't_. 

Gloria removes her left glove, presenting her bare hand and wedding ring to the camera, attempting to withhold her slight laugh at the absurdity of it all.

His breath hitches, eyes wide at the presentation on screen. There’s the most peculiar silence, broken only by her restless pokemon. Hop's expression is of exhaustion, before a slow, humored grin breaks his concern. 

"Actually, we're married."

Her husband smiles, uncontrollably, as she presses her lips together. The questions escalate, and she moves forward to leave, Hop immediatly behind her, accompanied by her team. She laughs so freely and wholeheartedly that it instills a sense of urgency in him to return home.

As though he hadn’t already desired to see her. 

* * *

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very late, but I wanted it to be conclusive, and that was difficult for me. Thank you for enjoying this story in these insanely rough times. Between Covid 19, the BLM Riots in America caused by racism and police brutality, and the tension between North and South Korea, I have struggled to finish this. But I thank you for hanging in this far. 
> 
> May you have a safe life, and a safe heart.<3

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a commissioned fic which was accepted as long as all romantically-involved characters would be blatantly stated to be 18+.


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